


As Time Goes By

by Chiyume



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 1940s, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Body Worship, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bottom Steve Rogers, Canon Compliant, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Explicit Sexual Content, Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt Steve Rogers, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Hurt/Comfort, NSFW, Outdoor Sex, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Serum, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Secret Relationship, Sexual Content, Sexual Fantasy, Smut, Switching, Tent Sex, Threesome fantasy, Top Bucky Barnes, Top Steve Rogers, World War II, caring bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-07-12 21:14:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 68,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7122823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiyume/pseuds/Chiyume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A timeline of Steve and Bucky's relationship depicted as a series of shorter chapters. Dating from 1943 to present day (Civil War Compliant)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**_June 10, 1943_ **

* * *

 

“Bucky… Bucky, ple— Oh, _god_ , Buck…”

Bucky grins, biting down on the corner of his lower lip as he slides inside Steve’s body yet again, only slower this time. Steve’s face is already flushed bright red, the blush creeping further and further down his delicate chest with each teasing stroke Bucky drags against his prostate. Bucky loves Steve like this, and Steve loves it when Bucky brings him to this point; the point where he’s no longer capable of forming even the most simple of sentences. Where everything is just another variation of Bucky’s name, mixed with a litany of curses and desperate pleadings.

“You feelin’ good there, Stevie?” Bucky pants, thrusting his hips forward harder, relishing in the way Steve chokes and buries the side of his face into the pillow. Steve nods, whimpering something incoherent into the fabric, and Bucky’s smile widens.

“C’mon, tough guy,” he smirks, letting his hand drop from where it’s holding Steve’s leg up against his own shoulder to smooth his fingers up the smaller man’s torso. “C’mon, baby… Let me hear ya…”

Steve turns his head, squinting an eye open at him. It immediately flutters close again when Bucky picks up the pace.

“Oh— Oh, Bu—” Steve turns his head into the pillow once again, screwing his eyes and lips resolutely shut.

“No, no, no,” Bucky cooes, leaning forward to cup Steve’s cheek with his hand. “Look at me.”

“Gonna come…” Steve whimpers.

“I know, so _look at me_ . Come for _me_ , Steve. Come for me _loud_.”

“Can’t— Your neighbours, they—”

“Aren’t home,” Bucky pants, his own breathing turning ragged. “They’re not home, I swear. No one’s gonna hear us, I promise.”

Steve’s eyes open up, glazed over and hazy as he turns his head, seeking out Bucky’s gaze in the blur.

“That’s it,” Bucky praises, moaning at the sight. “That’s it, Stevie, just let go.”

“Buck…” Steve keens, his back arching slightly off the mattress as his voice rises higher, his lungs gulping for air. One of his hands leaves its tangled iron grip around the sheets to grab around Bucky’s wrist, clinging to it for dear life.

“Together, baby,” Bucky moans, leaning down. Steve’s knees fold even further as Bucky rocks his hips faster, more insistent. “Fuck, you feel so good…”

“Bucky… Bucky, I’m— Shit, I’m gonna— Oh, Buck, oh, oh, _oh…!”_

Steve comes with a broken cry, spilling over his chest and stomach as Bucky thrusts in one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he empties his release inside Steve’s clenching body. Their breaths mingle, Bucky’s lips brushing over Steve’s clavicle, hot and messy, spreading goosebumps in their wake. Steve’s fingers slowly release their punishing grip around his wrist to absentmindedly stroke back a stray strand of hair from Bucky’s forehead, gazing up at him from underneath his eyelashes.

It takes them both some time coming back down, and when Bucky’s legs finally give out, causing him to slump down besides Steve’s heaving chest, Steve’s practically half asleep already.

“Hey,” Bucky murmurs, giving him a nudge to the side. “At least clean yourself up a little before dozing off on me.”

“Why should I?” Steve grumbles back. “You’re the one who caused the mess to begin with.”

“Fair point,” Bucky sighs, reluctantly admitting defeat by reaching for the roll of paper towels sitting next to the bed.

“You shouldn’t waste those,” Steve objects, sitting up. “Let’s just wash it off.”

“But that means getting out of bed,” Bucky complains, although while obediently flopping down onto his back again.

“We can always get back _into_ bed once we’re clean,” Steve says with a smile, and Bucky grumbles, but sits up nonetheless, pressing a swift kiss to Steve’s lips.

“I hate it when you’re right,” he says, before leaning in once more, kissing him even deeper.

Steve smiles, pulling back.

“No, you don’t,” he berates softly, feeling Bucky’s chuckle fan over his lips as Steve kisses him one final time, before he turns to push the covers away and climb out of the bed.

“I left marks on you again,” Bucky informs him, not sounding the slightest bit sorry. Not that Steve believes that he is.

“Am I gonna have to wear high collars for a few days?” Steve shoots back, heading for the door to the bathroom on the opposite side of the one room apartment.

“Nah, you should be good.” Bucky grins. “Just don’t take your shirt off in front of anyone.”

There’s a moment of silence.

“Speaking of…” Bucky says, his tone suddenly low and serious. “I read in the paper today that they’re looking for more people to enlist.”

Steve stiffens in the doorway, his shoulders squaring.

“Really?” he says, trying to sound casually interested, but failing.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “Apparently they’re opening up a new Recruitment Center downtown this weekend.”

Steve waits, feeling Bucky’s eyes drill into the back of his neck.

“You’re not planning on going, are you?”

Steve swallows, looking down at his feet, and he hears Bucky sigh behind him.

“Steve…”

“I might make it this time,” Steve objects.

“You might end up in _jail_ this time,” Bucky retorts pointedly.

“Then at least I’ll know I did everything I could,” Steve snaps as he turns around to glower at the other man. Bucky’s still sitting on the bed, and he meets Steve’s glare head on when it comes, like he always does. Steve sees the concern in those gray eyes, even though he choses to ignore it for the time being.

“You know I don’t like it,” Bucky says eventually.

Steve nods. “I know,” he says simply, making Bucky sigh again as he turns his gaze to the ceiling before shaking his head slowly.

“Just…promise me you won’t go,” Bucky says, looking over towards Steve once more. “Okay?” he adds, pleadingly.

Steve swallows, but instead of answering, he simply turns back around and continues into the bathroom, letting the door close quietly behind him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading guys :)  
> Please let me know what you thought of it in the comments <3


	2. 2

**_June 14, 1943_ **

Steve hisses, flinching when the cold towel presses in against his lower lip.

“Hold still,” Bucky says with a smile, following with the movement.

“Don’t press so hard,” Steve grumbles back.

“Crybaby,” Bucky chuckles.

Steve rolls his eyes to the ceiling, but decides not to answer, giving Bucky a fair chance to finally wipe the drying blood off his busted lip.

They’re in his kitchen, with Steve sitting on the chair that Bucky had most resolutely pushed him down into once they got back home. Bucky himself is sitting hunched down on the floor in between Steve’s parted legs, busying himself with the task of cleaning up his lover’s battlescars.

Steve’s hands are still itching to lash out from the frustration and anger that still twisting through his body, making him want to punch someone. Unfortunately, Bucky is the only one present at the moment, and no matter how angry Steve’s feeling, he doesn’t really feel like starting a fight with his boyfriend.

His boyfriend, whom less than an hour earlier had saved Steve from getting his ass royally handed to him behind some movie theater by that stupid, Neanderthal excuse of a—

“Hey,” Bucky says, the soft purr of his voice pulling Steve back to the present. “Stop thinking about it.”

“Easy for you to say,” Steve mutters grimly, watching Bucky dip the towel back into the bowl of rapidly pinkening water on the kitchen table. “You’re not the one who got to play the role of damsel in distress.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Bucky snorts. “We both know that you’d make a horrible damsel.”

The towel returns with gentle pressure, and then so do Bucky’s lips as they come up to brush against the corner of Steve’s mouth.

“Though, you do have an uncanny ability to always end up in some kind of distress…”

“He was asking for it,” Steve mumbles, closing his eyes when Bucky’s lips move on to press softly against his cheek.

“I’m sure he was,” Bucky whispers, and Steve valiantly fights down the pleasant shiver the gravel in his partner’s voice provokes. It’s seductive; temptation wrapped within the breath of a moan, and Steve both loves and hates it all at once.

“You know how it makes me feel to see you get hurt, sweetheart,” Bucky says tenderly, and Steve feels his thumb swipe against his jaw where Bucky’s hand is cupping his face through the damp fabric of the towel. He just barely resists the urge to lean into the touch.

“It’s no big deal,” he objects. “I’ll heal.”

“I know you will, eventually,” Bucky sighs, “but you can’t expect me to just stand idly by and watch people use you for a punching bag. I didn’t teach you how to box just so that you could go get that pretty face of yours smashed in.”

“You worry too much,” Steve argued.

“And you not at all, it seems.”

“Buck—”

“I know,” Bucky says, pulling back to look at him. “There’s no use arguing with you, Steve from Paramus, New Jersey.”

“Shut up,” Steve snorts, and Bucky chuckles.

“Yeah, I’ll shut up. I don’t feel like talking about yet another one of your failed attempts to get yourself killed in an uniform rather than out on the streets.”

Bucky gets up from the floor, taking the bowl and towel with him to the sink. Steve watches as he cleans out the bowl and washes the towel before wringing the excess water out.

“So I told the girls that we’d be seeing them at around eight.” Bucky turns around, leaning back against the counter. “I figured we could meet up with them outside the entrance to the Expo and then continue the date from there.”

Steve looks at Bucky. At the cheery little smile on his face, the excitement shining through from behind his eyes.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” he says, ducking his head. Over by the counter, Bucky straightens up, a concerned furrow appearing on his brow.

“But…?” he asks slowly.

Steve sighs, standing up from the chair.

“But,” he repeats, “we both know that this ain’t really gonna be a date.”

“Hey…” Bucky pushes off the counter and walks over to him. Steve keeps his eyes downcast when he feels two warm hands settle around the curve of his shoulders.

“It’ll be fun,” Bucky assures him. “I promise.”

“Yeah, especially with two girls draped all over you.”

“They don’t ‘drape’,” Bucky objects, although Steve notices it is without much conviction. Apparently, he realizes this himself just as he says it, because he then sighs, hanging his head down to softly bump his forehead against the top of Steve’s head.

“Alright, so maybe they do. A little bit.”

Steve snorts out a bitter laugh as Bucky’s fingers begin to rub soothing circles against his shoulders.

“I just wish that we wouldn’t have to do it this way,” he admits quietly. "You're shipping out in the morning, and we can't even—"

“I know, darlin', I know,” Bucky soothes, “but you know what would happen if people found out.”

“Yeah…” Steve mumbles. “I do.”

He really does. All too well.

Another guy, called Aaron Davis, had been found dead on the street just a few months prior. According to rumour, a group of men had thought that they had seen him holding hands with a guy at the movies, and they had taken it upon themselves to follow him on his way home and jump him in an alleyway. To teach him a lesson.

Before they broke his legs, they first made sure to beat Aaron’s face in with a brick while holding him down, and then moved on to kick him in the chest and stomach, breaking four of his ribs before finally being satisfied with their work. They had left him lying in a pool of his own blood, and Aaron had eventually died, choking on it.

Steve and Aaron had met a few times down at the pub. Aaron had been nice, friendly, fond of laughing, and Steve’s still willing to bet his own left arm that the guy had never as much as looked after another man in his entire life.

Aaron got killed, because for just a moment, some people had _thought_ that he was guilty of doing the very same thing Steve and Bucky have been doing for years.  

To even imagine what people would do to _them_ if that information gets out…

Steve swallows, hard, and tries to will the mental image of Bucky’s broken, lifeless body away from his mental vision.

“It’s not fair,” he hisses under his breath, his hands balling into fists by his sides.

“I know,” Bucky soothes him. “And I’d give anything to not have it be this way, but… I swear, Stevie, if something were to happen to you because of me, I’d—” Bucky cuts himself off, clearing a croak from his throat. He doesn’t have to say anything else. Steve gets it.

The date is a way for them to be seen together in public without raising suspicion. In that sense, they’re lucky that Buck is such a ladies magnet. All he has to do is offer up the possibility of a dance, and the dames comes flocking around him like mice to cheese. Finding a way for Steve to hitch along for the ride is a task done easily enough after that.

“Are you gonna have to kiss anyone this time?” Steve asks quietly.

“No,” Bucky says immediately. “No, I won’t.”

Steve feels the fingers on his left leave his shoulders and relocate themselves to his chin as Bucky slowly tilts his head up, rubbing his nose against Steve’s own.

“The only one I’m gonna kiss tonight is you,” he promises.

Steve breathes out a sigh through his nose when Bucky’s lips land on his mouth again. His own lower lip throbs a little beneath the pressure of the kiss, the wound stinging, but he doesn’t care.

Bucky’s kissing him slowly, tenderly, as if he’s trying to memorize the taste of him, and soon Steve is melting into it. Bucky’s right hand is strong on his shoulder. Solid. Safe. He can feel the warmth of it seep through his clothing, thawing the cold in his bones.

This time, when Bucky’s thumb swipes across his jawline, Steve does lean into the touch, and as he does, he can feel Bucky’s lips smile against his own.

“C’mon, Champ,” Bucky hums, pulling back long enough to breathe out a chuckle against Steve’s mouth. “Let’s go on a date.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :)  
> Feel free to leave a comment on your thoughts so far <3


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING!**  
>  This chapter contains mentions of **Steggy** , along with **Bucky/Steve/Peggy**. If this makes you hesitant to read it, please see the notes at the end of the chapter for clarification on what this means.

**_June 23, 1943_ **

 

It’s night time. 

The hallway outside Steve’s room is silent. There are no lights creeping in through the crack at the bottom of the door, indicating that the rest of the building is already sound asleep. 

Steve’s not.

He’s lying on his back in the middle of the bed, fully clothed and staring up at the ceiling, surrounded by darkness. 

He’s in the Officer’s Quarters, back at base. He’s been given a private room there, courtesy of Colonel Phillips himself. For his own protection, considering the infiltration of Howard Stark’s lab, but most likely also to make sure that he stays put until the military gives him permission to leave. 

Senator Brandt wants to meet with him as soon as possible, saying that he has ‘big plans’ for how Steve’s gonna aid in the war effort, but there are still some tests Stark’s people want to do on him before he’s allowed to go. 

Steve’s feeling excited about helping Brandt, of course he is, but if asked, he’d much rather help find the people who murdered Dr. Erskine.

There will be a funeral. Steve’s already decided to attend, no matter what the colonel or senator say. Erskine had been Steve’s friend; one of few. He had believed in Steve when no one else had, and without him, Steve wouldn’t have ended up where he is today. Going to his funeral is the least he can do to pay his respects.

He shifts on the mattress, feeling it dip beneath the weight of his body as he turns over to lie on his side. 

His  _ new  _ body.

Everything about it feels foreign still, from the very bones in its centre to the clothes currently covering it. For the first time in his life, the bed is actually on the verge of being too small for him where he lies, and the fabric of the shirt feels as if it’s stretched far too tight over his chest than what it should be.

He’s restless and fickle, and he can’t even bring himself to keep his eyes closed for long, because his skin keeps itching with the urge to  _ do _ something. To get up and get out, to run, run,  _ run _ , and not stop until he’s completely exhausted. How far will he get? How long will these new muscles be able to carry him forward before he collapses?

Steve has no idea, but the thought sets his mind on fire, making it impossible to let go.

He finds himself wishing for Bucky to be there with him. Bucky always knows how to soothe Steve’s nerves, even after a fight. Not having him by his side makes Steve feel as if he’s been robbed of a piece of his own body.

He stares at the ceiling, tracing the cracks in the plaster with his eyes.

He wonders how Bucky’s doing. The 107th was in Europe, last Steve heard.

Europe’s a long way from home. 

A long way from  _ him _ .

He wonders what Bucky’s gonna say when he comes back  – because he  _ is _ coming back – and sees what’s happened to Steve while he’s been gone. Will he be impressed? Bewildered? 

…Angry? 

What if Bucky comes back and doesn’t like Steve’s new body?

Steve’s always been tiny, and sometimes he thinks Bucky likes him just because of that. Bucky is caring and protective, and it’s pretty clear that doting on Steve and taking on the role of his personal bodyguard makes Bucky feel needed. 

There’s also the possibility—and Steve has actually never asked Bucky about this—that Bucky might think of Steve’s sudden masculinity as a turn off. Being together with a guy whose body isn’t much bigger than a woman’s might somehow be a less emasculating experience, than dating a guy with forearms the size of tree trunks would be. 

Needless to say, Bucky might not think of himself as very manly once he finds out that not only is Steve now able to bench press his own body weight, but probably also  _ Bucky’s _ , times a hundred. 

What will he say when it becomes clear that Steve’s not going to need Bucky to protect him anymore like he used to? When their physical roles are irrevocably reversed? 

Will Bucky go looking for someone else? Someone new that he can care for and pour all his love into?

Steve doesn’t want to think about it. Not even for a second, and he buries the side of his face into the pillow with a groan.

He doesn’t regret the changes. After all, this body has been turned into literal perfection, in every sense of the word. It’s strong, it’s fast, it’s durable and capable of things no human body should be capable of. And all of that has literally been handed to him on a silver platter, like the winning lottery number of physical side effects. Yet, Steve can’t seem to settle down inside it.

Peggy told him not to worry, that it would be like walking in a new pair of shoes. ‘Give it a couple of days,’ she had said. At this moment, however, Steve’s not sure if he’ll be able to give it even a couple of minutes.

He twists around, dropping onto his back once more. He pulls at the t-shirt where it rides up over his stomach, feeling the heat of his skin against the tip of his fingers as he does so.

He’s always warm now. It’s as if there’s a furnace burning non stop inside his body, pumping pure heat through his veins, where his blood used to be. He’s not sweating, but he’s still ridiculously  _ warm. _

Steve presses the hand down over his stomach, feeling the muscles there move underneath his skin as he breathes. For a close to painfully aching moment, he remembers the sensation of having the firm width of Bucky’s chest pressed up against his hands.

Bucky… 

Oh, what he wouldn’t give to have him there right now. Bucky, with his strong hands, broad shoulders, and hot, wicked tongue. 

His stomach jolts, spreading heat through his limbs. It’s a different heat, and the first familiar thing Steve’s felt since he stepped out of the Rebirth Pod back in Stark’s lab.

He lets his hand brush lower, following the line of a sharp hipbone until he finds the hem of his slacks. It’s strange, and yet oddly exciting. The shape beneath his palm is new and foreign to his touch, almost as if he’s actually touching someone else. For some reason that doesn’t throw him off as much as he thought it would. If he has to be honest with himself, he’d say that it’s actually pretty arousing.

His body gives a shiver, and he swallows hard as he quickly undoes the drawstring of his pants and slips his hand inside, cupping himself before he has time to change his mind.

It’s new, there too, but he tries not to linger on that thought as he moves his fingers to grip around himself, half hard already. It feels good, but that’s not really a surprise. 

He tries to imagine how Bucky’s hands would feel on him, if he were there right now. How they would stroke and touch, smoothing down the insides of his thighs before grabbing hold of him properly. 

Bucky has such nice hands. Granted, Steve thinks everything about Bucky is nice, but his hands especially so.

Steve is fully capable of imagining them; the memory of them permanently etched into the back of his mind after so many times of having experienced them for himself. Slender fingers. Blunt, neat nails dragging over his skin, strong wrists to hold on to when the sensations become too much.

He breathes out a sigh, pushing his head back into the pillow. Strong, steady hands… Soft fingertips… 

Suddenly, the image changes as the hands inside Steve’s imagination shifts, becoming smaller. Lighter, with longer nails, each one dipped in ruby nail polish. They’d be softer, Steve thinks, his entire body humming in agreement. They’d probably feel like—  

He stops, abruptly letting go of himself as he snaps his eyes wide open in the dark.

Wait, what is he thinking? Peggy’s not— He didn’t mean to—!

His throat is suddenly dry, his heart beating furiously inside his chest. Guilt, hot and pulsing, makes his face flush as he thinks about where his brain had been trying to lead him just now. 

He has Bucky.  _ Loves _ Bucky. He shouldn’t be thinking such things about  _ someone else!  _ For Christ’s sake, he doesn’t even know if Peggy’s interested in him in that way, and to have just thought about her touching his— It’s not  _ right! _

He feels  _ dirty _ .  _ Shameful  _ for having thought about it at all.

Sure, he likes Peggy. They’ve spent a lot of time together since Steve joined the Rebirth program. In fact, Peggy’s the first woman to ever having spent this much time with him except for his own  _ mother _ . Of course he feels drawn to her. 

And of course, he likes being around her. Talking with her. Being touched by her, even, if only just in passing. He’s aware of that, completely, and it’s extremely confusing.

He’s never felt anything like this for a girl before. Hasn’t ever even felt especially intrigued by girls in the first place. After all, why should he, when Bucky’s always been there to fill whatever void Steve might have felt?

But Peggy… She’s strong, and beautiful, and _ smart _ . So clever it makes Steve’s chest swell with admiration, and truth to be told, she’s not exactly unattractive, either. To be allowed to know her in the same sense that he already knows Bucky would have been… nice. Perhaps even more than nice.

He’s still hard, and beneath his waistline his erection gives an interested little twitch at the thought. The guilt shifts inside his chest, slowly parting to give room for something else, something more insistent than guilt. 

It’s just a thought, he thinks to himself. A thought. It will never be more than that.

He licks his lips, groaning.

Bucky’s not there. Peggy’s not there. He’s on his own. Alone, with nothing but his mind to keep him company. And isn’t that the whole point of being able to imagine things in the first place? To live through scenarios and events that will never happen in real life? 

As long as one’s fully aware of the fact that it’s just a fantasy that he will never act upon, then what harm can a few thoughts do?

Closing his eyes again, Steve lets his hands push his undone slacks down and out of the way, biting back a moan when his fingers close around him.

Just like that, they’re Bucky’s hands again. Strong, confident as they begin to stroke him, but there’s also something else, a new touch to the front of his chest that sends his imagination soaring.

Smaller, softer hands. Lips against his neck. A warm body pressing in against his side.

It’s not Bucky’s touch, but Steve relishes in it just the same. 

His breathing picks up pace as he imagines the heat of the two bodies, stretched out on either side of him. One with firm muscles and sharp angles, while the other is smaller, curvier, both of them sending sparks of lust through his body as they move against his skin. 

He’s shaking when Peggy presses her lips against his mouth, kissing him slowly while Bucky brushes his mouth down the length of his chest, licking against his abs, teeth grazing the side of his ribs. Steve moans at the touch, his heels digging into the mattress,and Peggy lets out an amused giggle against his lips in response. 

He shudders, feeling her hair tickle his shoulder when she leans down over him again, fingers rubbing across his chest to brush against a nipple through his shirt. It makes him gasp, and push against the touch for more.Peggy happily obliges.

By now, Bucky’s mouth is doing things to Steve’s body that he hasn’t had the pleasure of feeling for weeks now. The heat builds, his breath shaking apart beneath the rhythm. Hands, everywhere. Touching, stroking, bruising his skin with their intensity. 

His mouth falls open, jaw going slack as white noise rushes up his spine and he comes, hard, arching off the mattress with a gasp that leaves him breathless.

For several minutes, all he can do is to simply lie there, staring at the ceiling with unseeing eyes as he slowly falls back down into his own body again. He’s alone now, the ghosts inside his head having left him, and he takes a moment to mourn their departure before getting up to clean himself off.

Since it’s a private room in the officer’s building, he has his own bathroom, complete with a working shower. It makes the task of cleaning up considerably easier, and in just a minute Steve’s standing beneath the running water, rubbing soap over his body with a content sigh.

Another minute later, he’s leaning against the wall, hand around his cock and groaning into the crook of his elbow as he paints long streaks of white over the white porcelain of the bathtub. 

A minute after that, he realizes that Erskine’s serum must have amped up something more than just his muscles as he feels himself stir yet again as he pulls on his slacks. 

He also makes the  _ very  _ firm decision that it’s a side effect that  _ no one _ amongst Howard Stark’s staff will  _ ever  _ get to hear about. 

 

  
  


  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains minor Steve/Peggy that becomes Steve/Bucky/Peggy in the form of a sexual fantasy, but Stucky **is still the endgame of the story**. There will be **no** non-fantasy Steggy outside of the canon universe depicted in this fic.


	4. 4

**_November 7, 1943_ **

Steve is striding down the hallway of the officer’s building, attempting to look as though he knows where he’s going, while trying to remember the correct way to his quarters. If he appears too much like he’s lost, then someone might stop in an attempt to help him, and quite frankly, he doesn’t have time for that right now.

Steve is back in Italy with Bucky. They arrived at the Aviano Air Base earlier that same morning, along with the rest of the 107th who had been rescued from Hydra. The men  _ Steve  _ rescued.

Thinking about it that way is still surreal to him. Steve doesn’t consider himself to be a hero as much as a decent human being, doing his civic duty, but apparently the rest of the military doesn’t agree with him.

He’s been given an officer’s quarters in the main building, which, technically speaking isn’t wrong, seeing as he is a Captain, after all. He just wishes that he wouldn’t have to be separated from the rest of the men he had come to know during his little rescue operation. 

On the other hand, it’s nice to be back somewhere with running water. And showers. And beds. 

Oh, yes,  _ beds _ .

Steve is tired, for the first time in what feels like ages, but it’s not so much a physical fatigue as it is a mental one. His head feels foggy, as if it’s been filled up with clouds, but he doesn’t want to get himself any rest just yet. He has to find Bucky first.

There hasn’t been much time for them to talk since their march out of Switzerland, during which they had both been too busy being soldiers to exchange more than just a few words. Enemy territory was the right place for a heartfelt reunion, and they both knew that.

Now, they are safe. Alive and well on the closest thing to home soil as they’ll probably see for some time to come.

Now, there’s time for them to talk. About everything.

He turns a corner and lets out a sigh of relief when he finally recognizes the hallway before him. Digging out the key to his room from inside his pocket, he puts it into the lock of the door, turns it, and pushes the handle down.

He’s already halfway across the threshold when he realizes that there’s already someone waiting for him inside.

Bucky is sitting in the chair over by the desk. The blinds have been pulled down over the windows, and when Steve opens his mouth to speak, Bucky holds a finger up to his mouth and shushes him without a sound. Then he signs for Steve to close the door. 

Steve does as he’s told. He makes sure that the door is firmly locked before he turns back to face the other man just as Bucky stands up from the chair.

Holding his breath, Steve watches as Bucky slowly walks up to him. He’s eyeing Steve up and down before finally looking him in the eye. His face is unreadable, and Steve swallows as he straightens up, preparing himself for whatever’s coming next. 

He’s not expecting it when Bucky suddenly surges forward and kisses him, throwing his arms around Steve’s neck and pulling him in, tight. It takes him by surprise, leaving him momentarily stunned. Then his brain finally kicks back into gear and he brings his hands up to fist at the back of Bucky’s military henley in bewildered reciprocation. 

Bucky.  _ His  _ Bucky. And he’s there, with him, finally…!

Steve presses himself against Bucky’s body, and Bucky stumbles backwards from the sudden shift in their balance. The backs of his thighs hit the desk with a mute rattle, as Steve crowds into Bucky’s personal space, towering over him.

Bucky is breathing out a rambled string of, ”Missed you, missed you so much, baby,” against Steve’s mouth, and Jesus Christ, they’re definitely wearing far too many clothes. Steve wants to feel Bucky’s body against his right  _ now _ , and he pulls away just long enough to drag Bucky’s shirt over his head, his entire soul aching for the touch of Bucky’s skin on his.

Swallowing down a groan, Bucky palms at Steve’s shoulders, shoving to get the uniform jacket out of the way. They’re still kissing and Steve doesn’t want to stop, because Bucky’s hands are literally  _ everywhere _ .

“Fuck, you’re so  _ big _ ,” Bucky growls, already with his fingers tearing at the buttons of Steve’s shirt. Steve stiffens, hesitating.

Doubt flickers through his mind, self consciousness rising up like bubble through his arousal. It’s a silly notion, since Bucky is obviously interested enough, but he can’t stop it. A million thoughts hit his brain all at once. What if Bucky won’t like him naked? What if he takes one look at him with his clothes off and then changes his mind? What if—?  

His building doubt is cut off, however, when Bucky’s hands starts smoothing their way up his now partially exposed chest, fingers almost shaking as they brush against the hinted pectoral muscle peeking out from behind Steve’s open collar. Bucky pulls at the fabric, revealing more. He groans as his mouth falls open.

“Take it off,” he moans, eyes wide as he stares at Steve’s chest. “Take it all off, right now.”

Steve tries to step out of Bucky’s reach to do as he’s told, but Bucky’s not letting him. He keeps a firm grip around Steve’s shirt until Steve stops pulling away, and then he just stares as Steve reaches down to drag the half unbuttoned shirt over his head and toss it to the side.

Bucky’s eyes are wide as they take him in, and Steve ducks his head when Bucky’s raises his hand to let the tips of his fingers ghost against his clavicle, moving down as if in awe.

“For fuck’s sake, Stevie…” he breathes out, his voice sounding raw and throaty. “You’re… This is…”

“Are you okay with it?” Steve asks quietly, and at that, Bucky’s gaze shoots up to stare at his face in wide eyed bafflement. Then he laughs.

“ _ Okay with it? _ Are you kidding me?” he says, gaping and sounding as if it’s the most ridiculous question he’s ever heard.

Steve’s abashment must be evident on his face, because as soon as the words leave Bucky’s mouth, Bucky’s already sliding off the table to tenderly wrap both his arms around Steve’s waist.

“You’re beautiful, sweetheart…” he whispers, nuzzling his nose against Steve’s jaw line. “You’ve always been beautiful.”

“Not like this, though,” Steve says with a wry chuckle, and Bucky snorts out a laugh, dropping his forehead against Steve’s shoulder with a mute thump.

“No,” he admits. “Not quite like this.” He looks up, seeking out Steve’s eyes. “But that doesn’t mean you weren’t beautiful before.”

Not waiting for Steve to come up with an answer to that, Bucky starts to move backwards, pulling Steve along by the hand as he sits down at the edge of the bed, urging Steve to follow him. Steve does, following obediently when Bucky lies down on his back and guides Steve to kneel down on all fours above him.

Bucky licks his lips, eyes roaming over Steve’s chest, shoulders and face, as if he’s trying to look at it all at once. He’s smiling, and Steve hears him let out a quiet snort of laughter under his breath.

“What?” Steve asks, trying to sound offended.

“Nothing,” Bucky answers immediately. The corner of his mouth pulls up higher, his smile widening into a pleased, half crooked grin. “Just a bit awestruck at the moment.”

“Are you  _ trying  _ to make me blush?” Steve retorts. 

Bucky shakes his head.

“Oh, I wanna make you do so much more than just blush, darlin’,” he drawls as he drags his palms down the front of Steve’s chest, experimentally thumbing  over a nipple, which succeeds in making Steve shudder. “Glad to see  _ some  _ things are still the same, at least,” he adds lewdly, repeating the movement. This time, the quake that goes through Steve’s body is nearly enough to make him lose his balance. Bucky’s brow suddenly furrows when he asks, “Has anyone else seen you like this?” 

“You mean except an entire research team?” Steve smirks, trying to sound cocky in spite of the digit still swiping at his chest.

“You know what I mean,” Bucky scolds, and Steve instantly grows serious, shaking his head.

“No”, he responds shakily, struggling to keep his focus under the continued ministrations of Bucky’s thumb. Doesn’t the jerk realize that these types of conversations aren’t really meant to be mixed with sexual frustration?  

“Not even once?” Bucky pushes on, suddenly sounding more impressed than suspicious.

“Trust me,” Steve says with a chuckle, “there have been plenty of offers. Captain America gets a lot of attention in the big cities.”

The thumb halts as Bucky looks up at him then,  his eyes narrowing into a calculating squint.

“ _I_ _haven’t been with anyone else_ ,” Steve clarifies with an exaggerated eyeroll. “Not even _once_ ,” he adds, for good measure.

Bucky purses his lips for a moment. Then he lets his hands, very studiously, trail down Steve’s abs until they eventually drop to the buckle of his belt.

“Why not?” he asks, almost with a pout, as he begins to unbuckle it.

“I want  _ you _ ,” Steve responds honestly, his breath hitching when Bucky’s hands brushes against the skin of his lower abdomen. “I always want you.”

Bucky smirks. His hands still as his eyes lock onto Steve’s, a challenge glinting in the depths of his blown pupils.

“Then what are you waiting for?” he whispers.

Well, Steve thinks,  _ that _ , apparently.

He dives down and catches Bucky’s lips in another kiss at the same time as he grinds his entire body down on top of him, relishing in Bucky’s choked out moan when he breathes it into his lungs.

Bucky’s left thigh finds its way in between Steve’s legs, and after that, it’s all hands, lips, tongues, kisses and heated touches. Everything is jumbled, all electrified pleasure, but it’s insistent and throbbing like thunder, and Steve wants  _ more _ .

“Christ, Stevie…” Bucky shudders as Steve suckes a bruising kiss onto the side of his neck. “Need you. Need you inside me so bad.”

Steve groans, pausing above Bucky’s exposed jugular.

“You sure?” he pants.

“The hell do you think?” Bucky groans, reaching in between them to tug at his slacks. 

“We don’t have any—”

“Already took care of it,” Bucky interrupts, making Steve’s gut nearly curl in on itself with a mix of excitement and trepidation.

“Took care of it?” he repeats slowly. He has a pretty decent idea of what those words mean, in action, but that’s not what has him stumped. It’s the fact that even before he came to Steve’s room, Bucky was thinking about this. About him. To the point where he had even planned and prepared himself to let Steve—  

They have done it that way before. Once or twice. It was long ago, and Bucky had claimed to like it well enough back then, but… well, Steve wasn’t exactly  one to push the subject, even if he had enjoyed it too. It just never felt like the right time. 

“ _ Damnit _ , Steve.” Bucky arches his back, growling impatiently as he yanks once at Steve’s pants. “Just get these things  _ off _ , will ya?” 

Steve’s thoughts snap back to the present as he sits back up. He opens his mouth to ask if Bucky’s sure one last time, but when he sees the warning gleam in Bucky’s eyes, he shuts it. So what if this is not the way they usually do it? It doesn’t matter. Bucky’s offering himself up and Steve’s not gonna deny him. Doesn’t even want to. 

Besides, Steve thinks as he moves to slide his pants off, it’s not as if he himself hasn’t been a bit curious about doing this. To take on the more dominant role. Especially after having realized that Bucky’s actually  _ shorter  _ than him nowadays.

He chucks his slacks aside, watching Bucky do the same with his own pants. As he lowers himself back down, Bucky unceremoniously shoves him back onto the mattress, resolutely climbing on top of him. 

"So,” he drawls with a grin. “What else got bigger while I was gone?"

Steve doesn’t answer. He has a few comebacks, but at the moment he’s far too busy drinking in the sight of Bucky straddling him to remember them. 

He’d almost forgotten exactly how beautiful Bucky can be when he’s like this. How wild, raw and untamed he looks, the lingering bruises after their escape from Switzerland only adding to his ferocious image.

God, he’s gorgeous, and Steve wants every single inch of him.

Bucky is eager too, which shows not only in the way he quickly takes his place on top of Steve’s body, positioning himself, but also in the way his breathing has already picked up speed, and how his cock is straining towards his stomach. Steve bites back a groan when he feels Bucky’s fingers close around him, for the first time in what feels like years, and he resolutely fists his hands into the covers to keep them where they are.

His mind goes back to the first time Bucky had allowed him to do this. Back when Steve’s body had been too weak to carry Bucky’s weight for longer than a few minutes before he began to feel too strung out to even continue. 

He had been looking forward to give Bucky the same kind of passionate treatment that Bucky had so often given him, with all the manhandling that implied. He had been eager for a chance to let  _ his _ hips bruise the insides of  _ Bucky’s  _ thighs for once, while simultaneously marking his chest and neck up with love bites and hickeys, until Bucky got reduced into a panting, writhing mess underneath him.

Ironically, the only thing that ended up being bruised had been Steve’s own pride…   

He remembers it as a failure, despite Bucky’s assurances that he had liked it. Steve has to admit that Bucky had indeed seemed very pleased with the gentle treatment, even if things hadn’t exactly gone as Steve had originally planned.

However, that was then. 

This is now.

Steve’s body may have changed, but the look on Bucky’s face is still the same when he sinks down on top of him. Bucky’s nails scratch down the front of Steve’s chest as he gulps for air.

“So good…” he pants. “So damn good…”

Steve watches, struggling to keep his eyes open as Bucky takes him all in a single, slow slide, and damn it if it doesn’t feel like he’s losing his virginity all over again. His heart is pounding, and he can feel beads of sweat already forming on his forehead.  

“Bucky…” he grates when Bucky lets out a soft whine towards the ceiling. “You’ve gotta stay quiet…”

They might be in a private room, but that only means that they can’t be seen. Not that they can’t be heard. God himself will not be able to save them, should anyone get too curious. Steve knows that Bucky knows this too, and his heart skips a beat when Bucky just breathes out a chuckle, steadying himself against Steve’s chest with both hands.

“You just lie there and be pretty,  _ Cap _ ,” he huffs smugly. “I’ve got this covered. Quite literally,” he adds with a wink.

“You’re a nuisance,” Steve says with a smirk  as he thumps his head back onto the beddings. He hears Bucky laugh again and then go silent as he turns his focus on the task at hand.

The bed is not exactly top notch and even the slightest of movements make the springs creak in ways that are just a tad bit too loud for comfort. Somehow, Bucky still manages to set up a rhythm that’s basically soundless, with the agonizing consequence that it’s also torturously  _ slow. _

Steve is going crazy from it. Bucky is so warm, so solid where he’s straddled on top of him, and Steve can feel the heat of his body constrict around his cock, making his head soar. He lets go of the bedspread in favor of grasping for Bucky’s thighs, kneading them in time with the languid rolls of Bucky’s hips, pushing his head back against the bed. 

He’s biting his lip, breathing steadily in and out through his nose. This is not the first time he’s had to be quiet during sex, but for some reason it’s so much harder now, so much more intense. Steve is literally shaking with it, fine tremors wrecking his limbs as if he’s caught a fever. He digs his fingers into the muscle of Bucky’s left thigh and then reaches out, his fingers wrapping around Bucky’s erection to stroke it in time with the thrusts. The result is immediate.

Bucky keens, deep in his throat, his hips stuttering forward into Steve’s fist. Steve takes the hint and picks up the pace, his hand working faster while Bucky whines on top of him, his voice low and pleading as he rocks himself down, begging for Steve to just keep going, to not stop, oh, Stevie, please don’t stop, please…!

A loud creak from the bed makes Steve halt, and Bucky slumps forward with a frustrated whimper, shaking with his eyes half closed. Steve meets his gaze as he sits up a bit higher, and yeah, Bucky’s close, he can tell. The familiar haze is right there, like a mist covering the gray of his eyes, and Steve licks his lips slowly.

“C’mon,” Bucky rasps, rocking his hips down impatiently. “C’mon, baby…”

Steve throws a quick look over his shoulder towards the locked door, and then back at Bucky, before making a decision.

“Holy shit,” Bucky says with a chuckle when Steve promptly let’s him go to grab his hips with both hands and lifts him.

“Holy shit…” he repeats, a bit more dazed when Steve then starts moving him up and down, keeping himself completely still as he does so, reducing the creaking of the bed to a near nothing. 

“Oh, holy— Steve… Oh, God, Ste— holy shit, oh shit, God,  _ fuck _ , Steve…!”

Bucky is biting back the moans and curses behind his teeth, his eyes screwed shut as Steve keeps doing the exact opposite of thrusting into him. His hands scramble for purchase over the span of Steve’s forearms, gripping around his wrists so hard it would without a doubt have left dark bruises on his skin, had Bucky done the same thing a few months ago. 

It’s rough, fast, and Steve’s trying his best to stay in control of it, even though every nerve in his body is screaming for him to just let go.

“Fuck,” Bucky growls, “fuck, fuck,  _ fuck…! _ ”

Steve groans something in response, but he’s not fully aware of what he’s saying. He can barely keep his eyes open and his jaw goes slack when he feels Bucky’s muscles tense in his grip. Gray eyes widen and Bucky’s mouth falls open, and Steve feels the high roll up his spine when he sees the euphoric glaze in Bucky’s eyes. 

“Quiet…” he warns, the word nearly shivering apart on his lips. It’s all he manages to get out, and then he’s coming too, drowning in the stormy seas that are Bucky’s eyes. He feels wet heat splatter across his chest and stomach, trickling down his left side as Bucky comes without a single sound, mouth agape and silent as his taut body shivers and shakes with the force of the climax.

Steve’s chest is heaving, and he swallows down groan after groan when they threaten to claw their way out of his throat. Bucky’s slumped forward so far his hair tickles Steve’s clavicle, gulping for air as the final quakes travel through his limbs.

Carefully, Steve eases up on his grip around Bucky’s hips to rub tender little circles into the skin, massaging his way up and down the other man’s back until Bucky gives a pleased little hum in response. 

When Steve looks up, Bucky is smiling down at him with an almost drunken expression on his face. Dazed, awestruck, and perhaps, Steve thinks, a bit disoriented. 

“Wow,” Bucky breathes, giving an exhausted chuckle. “Now I get why you always want me to top.” He groans when he sits up a bit higher, pulling his hands through his hair as he cants his head back with a pleased grin towards the ceiling. “How long until we can do that again?” he asks jokingly.

Steve licks his lips, looking down where he’s buried, still half hard, inside Bucky’s body.

“Oh,” he says cryptically. “Just… give it a minute.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, smut happened! :D
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, guys.   
> If you feel like it, I'd love a comment on what you think of the story so far.  
> There's still a long way to go, and I appreciate all the input I can get :)
> 
> Have a great day, all <3


	5. 5

**_November 13, 1943_ **

 

“I’m turning into you.” Bucky lets out a disbelieving chuckle as Peggy walks away from them. “It’s like a horrible dream.”

“Don’t take it so hard,” Steve says, smiling as he slaps his hand against Bucky’s shoulder in feigned consolation. “Maybe she’s got a friend?” he jibes, sitting back down on his barstool.

He expects Bucky to follow suit, but Bucky remains standing, staring down at the countertop in silence. He’s chewing on his lip, his shoulders hunched.

“What?” Steve asks, frowning, and Bucky’s tongue swipes out to wet his lip as he snorts out another laugh.

“Did you fuck her?”

His tone is hard, the words intentionally crude as they leave his mouth, and Steve’s brow furrows even deeper.

“What?” he asks incredulously.

“You heard me,” Bucky says. His eyes are hard as granite when they turn to look at Steve’s face. “Did you _fuck_ her?”

“No!” Steve exclaims, shocked and horrified by the mere suggestion. He stares at Bucky. What kind of a question—?

“We’ve been over this once already, Buck,” he says firmly, finding his footing. “There’s been no one else. For _either of us_ .” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Do you really think I’d do something like that behind your back? I would _never_ , Buck. Not in a million years, I— I can’t believe you’re actually _accusing_ me of this?”

“Did you or did you not?” The expression on Bucky’s face doesn’t even shift as he says it.

“I did _not_ ,” Steve snaps. Bucky’s glare doesn’t falter.

“Do you want to?” he insists, and something sharp and cold that feels horribly much like guilt twists its way through Steve’s gut, making him feel sick to his stomach.  

He blinks as his mouth opens and closes in search of words, _any words_ , but apparently, that’s not the correct way to respond. Bucky immediately turns his face away, his mouth forming a thin, grim line.

“I don’t believe it…” he grates out hoarsely, his lip twitching. “I don’t fucking believe it.”

“Buck, it’s not like that,” Steve tries.

“Then what _is_ it like?” Bucky hisses. There’s a wet shine in his eyes that cuts into Steve’s chest like a hundred knives when he turns to glare at Steve again. There’s anger, betrayal, and a hurt worse than anything Steve has ever seen in those eyes, and the sight of it all completely steals his voice away.

“It’s—” Steve chokes, swallowing hard. “It’s complicated,” he ends lamely, and in turn, Bucky’s jaw clenches, the tendons of his throat working.

“Complicated?” he repeats grimly. Steve holds his breath, waiting for a continuation, but none comes. He knows that if he looks away now, Bucky’s gonna get up and leave, and he can’t let that happen. So he holds the other’s gaze, and tries not to cower from the resentment that flashes hot against him as he does.

After a while, Bucky turns away, another one of those hollow snorts making its way across his lips.

“Well, luckily for you, she seems willing enough,” he bridles.

“What are you talking about?” Steve frowns.

“Oh, c’mon,” Bucky snarls. “You saw her. With the _hair_ and the _makeup…_ Hell, she even wore a red dress, for Christ’s sake!”

“Is _that_ why you’re upset?” Steve gapes. “Because of her _dress?_ ”

“Because she couldn’t have been more obvious if she showed up here naked!” Bucky hisses under his breath. “I’m not blind. I have _eyes_ to see with, and all I see is her looking at you as if you’re made out of gold and she’s dirt poor. _The right partner,”_   he spits as he grabs for his glas. “Pathetic…!”

Steve flinches at the tone of Bucky’s voice, at the unmasked contempt he hears in it.

Those are his words, not Peggy’s, but Bucky doesn’t know that.

Steve remembers the conversation clearly. They had been on the way to Howard Stark’s lab, on the big day of Steve’s serum injection. He had been so nervous, hands fidgeting on his lap as he tried not to think about what was going to happen to him. He had missed Bucky so badly, and driving down the street, being reminded of all the times and places Bucky had once saved his scrawny hide in over and over had felt like nothing more than a cruel taunt on Steve’s expense.

Talking with Peggy had been easy. A comfort and a distraction. She had been compassionate and filled with empathy, and opening up had felt like a natural thing. Steve had rambled, she had replied, and all of a sudden they were talking about Steve’s love life.

He hadn’t lied. Not technically. He had told Peggy the truth when he revealed that women had always scared him; he just hadn’t told her that his fear had not been born out of the possibility of rejection. No, Steve’s fear had always been that of being _caught_. Exposed as a fraud, for everyone to see. As if the girl he’d asked to dance would suddenly be able to tell that he wasn’t really interested, be it by the way he moved or the way he held her hand.

Dancing in public became frightening, to the point where he simply stopped trying. Bucky still danced, of course. One of them had to, to keep up appearances, and since Bucky loved to dance it only seemed fair to let him do it.

The fact that Steve could only stand by and watch without being able to join him was a price Steve had been willing to pay, just to see Bucky smile.

When Peggy asked him what he was waiting for, the answer had come to him without hesitation. He was waiting for the right partner, and that partner had always been, and will always be, Bucky.

But Bucky doesn’t know anything about that.

Steve swallows, looking down at his own glass sitting on the counter.

“Bucky,” he says calmly, “you’re being unr—”

“You know,” Bucky cuts him off, “I bet she didn’t even care about you before you got all serumed up. As a matter of fact, I don’t think she even _looked_ at you back when you were nothing but skin and bones!”

“Stop!”

Bucky’s mouth clamps shut with a faint click of teeth when Steve snaps at him. This time, it’s Steve who glares at Bucky, and Bucky who glares back.

“What the hell is _wrong with you?_ ” Steve demands tightly, hissing under his breath as he leans in close. “You’re acting like a complete idiot!”

“Oh, am I?” Bucky retorts sarcastically, making Steve’s hand curl into a fist against the top of the bar.

“Yes, you are,” he grits. “You’re talking nonsense. Insulting me. Insulting _Peggy_ , who’s actually the main reason why you’re not still strapped to a table in Switzerland!”

Bucky blinks, and his gaze flickers to the floor as he swallows once, hard.

“You’re not normally like this, Buck,” Steve continues, his voice growing softer when he sees the guilt flash across Bucky’s face. “I’ve known you almost my entire life, and I’ve never heard you say things like that. About anyone.”

“Maybe no one else deserved it?” Bucky tries, glowering at Steve’s boot.

“That’s not true and you know it,” Steve retorts acridly. He sighs, momentarily turning his eyes to the ceiling before coming back to Bucky once more. “You know, if you wanna take whatever this is about out on me, then go ahead. Be my guest.” He leans forward, lowering his voice. “But I’m not gonna sit here and listen to you talk about Peggy that way. She’s done nothing wrong.”

He watches Bucky’s face, searching it for some kind of reaction. Bucky’s still staring down at Steve’s boot, but his eyes are empty, as if he’s not really seeing it.

“Bucky.”

“Fine,” Bucky says, steely grey gaze flicking up to meet with Steve’s blue. “Then let's talk about you instead.”

Steve straightens up, and Bucky turns to glare down into the countertop.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he mutters.

“What question?” Steve grunts, upon which Bucky gives him a pointed glance from the corner of his eye.

Oh, Steve remembers. That question…

He licks his lips as that same nauseating feeling from before comes rolling back through the pit of his stomach. He knows that he can lie. That he can tell Bucky that just he’s imagining things. That he’s had too much to drink and needs sleep.  

“You’re right,” he says instead, and next to him, Bucky stiffens as Steve continues, “There have been times, before, when I’ve thought about what it would be like to… be with her.”

He shoots Bucky a wary glance, but Bucky’s still staring stubbornly into the wood of the counter.

“It was just a fantasy,” Steve says. “Something that I used to think about when I was alone. It’s never lead to anything, and I haven’t given it a single thought since you got back.”

Bucky snorts. His jaw works, throat bobbing as he swallows.

“Great,” he says wryly. “Fantastic.”

“It’s not something I want to actually _happen_ ,” Steve defends himself. “Buck—”

“So you were just never going to tell me?” Bucky shoots back, and Steve sighs, throwing his hand out to the side in exasperation.

“Yeah, I guess,” he groans. “What difference does it even make?”

“It makes _all_ the difference,” Bucky snarls.

“ _Why?_ ”

“Because—” Bucky chokes as he finds himself unable to even finish the sentence, and Steve sighs, closing his eyes.  

“I know it’s not what you want to hear,” Steve says quietly, “but you asked for the truth, and I don’t want to lie to you.”

“You really expect me to believe that if she offered, you wouldn’t take her up on it?” Bucky grates.

“I _expect_ you to have a little faith in me,” Steve retorts. “Besides,” he adds, “whether or not she makes me an offer doesn’t matter. That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?” Bucky asks.

“The point is that she’s not _you_ ,” Steve says.

Bucky closes his mouth. His eyes do a quick sweep around the bar, checking if anyone had heard the final, scandalous word in Steve’s sentence. When no one looks their way, his shoulders relax, and he sinks back into his chair.  

They go quiet. Steve takes a swig out of his glass, but the drink tastes of nothing as it goes down his throat.

He knows that he technically hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s never touched Peggy, never said or done anything inappropriate whatsoever. He’s imagined it, yes, but never about him and Peggy alone. It had always been the three of them, a fantasy for his mind only. Nothing that could ever hurt anyone.

Only now, Bucky _is_ hurt, and Steve feels so guilty that he’s just about ready to crawl out of his own skin in order to escape it.

He never intended to hurt anyone, Bucky least of all, and he’s terrified that the damage he’s caused will turn out to be irreparable. Has he ruined everything now? Has he managed to become that which he so desperately wanted to avoid from the very beginning? A common cheater?

Because he sure feels like one.

Steve reaches for his drink again, but just as his fingers grasp around the glass, Bucky starts talking.

“You know, I’ve never met a girl who’s ignored me like that before.”

Steve halts. Bucky doesn’t seem to notice.

“Usually, all it takes is a smile and a few suave lines, and they turn to butter in my hands,” Bucky continues. “Except this one.” He looks at Steve out of the corner of his eye. “This one’s only got eyes for you.”

Steve looks away, licking his lips, when Bucky turns away.

“It makes me angry,” Bucky rasps. “Angrier than it should. I know that, but I can’t stop it from happening. I feel… I feel like people are trying to take you away from me, and all I can do is stand here and watch.”  

Steve ponders that information for a second, thumbing at the rim of his glass.

“You know I’d never leave you,” he says, trying to convey some sort of reassurance.

“Yeah…” Bucky mumbles. “I guess I do.” He lowers his head for a moment, as if to brace himself. “I’ve never had to worry about that before, you know,” he says quietly, almost as if he doesn’t want Steve to hear him. “People clinging to you like that…”

Steve’s brow furrows. Wait, what?

“It makes me feel like a douchebag,” Bucky mutters. “I mean, I’ve spent all these years basically taking you for granted, and now you’re this handsome, famous guy that everybody wants to have a piece off and… Frankly, it scares the living hell out of me.”

“You never took me for granted, Buck,” Steve objects firmly, but Bucky only shakes his head in response.

“I feel like I did,” he says. “I’ve known you all this time. Known how smart you are, how kind… How loyal.” He looks up as he says it, giving Steve an almost shy glance before looking down again. “I’ve known about all of those things, but I’ve never really told you. Now, everyone else is suddenly seeing them too, acting as if they knew all along. The women fight over who’s gonna get to have you for themselves, if only for a few hours, fight over who gets to be the one to claim that they’ve banged Captain America. They don’t give a shit about Steve Rogers from Brooklyn, and it pisses me off.”

He looks down at his hands, and when Steve follows the gaze he sees that they’re trembling.

“I just get so _angry_ ,” he hisses. The tremble is suddenly back in his voice and his fingers curl into the palms of his hands as he speaks. “Suddenly I find myself wanting to hurt people, and it scares me. I don’t know what’s happening to me, Steve, I—”

“Hey,” Steve reaches out and folds his hands over Bucky’s own, grasping them tight. “Hey, it’s okay, Buck, everything’s alright.”

He can feel Bucky’s hands shake in his grip, as if they’re freezing cold. Steve wishes, more than ever, that they were alone, that they weren’t in the middle of a crowded bar so that he could pull Bucky close and hold him tight. At the moment, he supposes that they’re lucky not to have been overheard already, but he has to do _something_ , and if touching isn’t an option, then…

“Listen to me,” he says, leaning in closer, almost pushing his forehead against Bucky’s temple.

“I love you,” he whispers, and he hears Bucky’s breath hitch with a shaky, wet noise, almost a sob. “Alright?” Steve nudges at Bucky’s shoulder. “There are plenty of people that I like, people who are my friends, but I. _Love. You_.“

He pulls back, canting his head to catch Bucky’s eye.

“Bucky,” he says softly. “Bucky, look at me.”

Reluctantly, as if he’s afraid of what he’ll see, Bucky raises his head. His eyes are glassy, his lips trembling, and Steve’s heart aches at the sight of it.

“Have I ever lied to you? About something this important?” he asks. Bucky looks at him, and then he swallows, shaking his head.

“No,” he admits. “You haven’t.”

“Then do you really think I’d start now?” Steve prompts.

Bucky pinches his lips together and gives another slow shake of his head. Steve leans in, pressing his forehead hard against Bucky’s own.

“You’re everything to me,” he whispers. “There will never be anyone else, and if you want me to, I’ll let Peggy know that I’m already spoken for, first thing in the morning, I swear.”

“You don’t need to—”

“It’s not what I _need_ to do, Buck. If it’d make you feel better, then I’ll do it. Whether you think it’s needed or not.”

At that, Bucky exhales, letting out a rush of air as if he’s been holding it in for hours. He sags forward, slumping over in his seat, and Steve can feel the tension drain out of the hands still in his grasp as Bucky closes his eyes with a sigh.

“I’m an idiot,” he mumbles.

“Yes, you are,” Steve smiles, pulling back. He throws a quick look over his shoulder as he lets go of Bucky’s hands, giving him a quick, platonic pat on the shoulder for good measure. “That’s what makes the two of us such a great team.”

“Right,” Bucky snorts, but Steve hears the tiny little chuckle of relief that’s bubbling just beneath the surface of the sound. It’s reassuring, and Steve lets out a sigh as he leans back on the bar stool, relaxing.

“So…” he says carefully. “Are you okay? Are we… good?”

“Yeah.” Bucky nods as he reaches up to pull his fingers through his hair, groaning quietly. “Yeah, we’re good.”

He turns towards the bar, and as Steve watches, he reaches out and grabs his drink, downing what’s left of it in one single go.

“Well,” he rasps, the liquor making his voice run hoarse for a moment. “Since you’ve got an important meeting in morning, maybe we should get out of here before anyone else shows up to take you dancing?”

Steve snorts out a laugh, shaking his head.

“Sounds good to me,” he agrees amicably, and he’s relieved to see that Bucky’s response to that is a soft, genuine smile.

 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :)  
> Please let me know what you think of it so far<3


	6. 6

**_November 14, 1943_ **

 

“You still don’t know a bloody thing about women.”

Peggy turns to walk away, her heels clicking hard against the floor as she moves to make her exit, and something inside Steve’s head snaps.

“You’re right!” he calls after her. She doesn’t stop, already pushing past the double doors leading into the next part of the bunker, and Steve picks up the pace, chasing after her. His heart is already pounding, adrenaline and something that feels like fear rushing through his veins when he reaches her. His fingers curl around her sleeve just as the door behind them closes, leaving them alone in the corridor on the other side. 

Her eyes are wide when she’s spun around to face him, her mouth already open to object when Steve resolutely pulls her into an empty storage room to the left, kicking the door shut.

“What are you—”

“I don’t,” Steve repeats firmly, cutting her off. The tone of his voice makes her brow furrow, and Steve pauses. Looking down, he realizes that his hands are trembling. He tries to will them to a stop, but he can’t. He forces himself to drag a shaky breath into his lungs, feeling his chest ache from the tension coiling in his muscles as he continues, “Not about…  _ women… _ ”

A moment passes. Then Peggy’s jaw goes slack as her lips part in a quiet gasp, something akin to panic flashing in her eyes.

Steve waits. There’s something churning in his stomach, as if he’s just taken a step right off the edge of a cliff. He remembers that he’s still clutching the fabric of her sleeve, and he slowly lets it go, taking a wary step back. She’s staring at him, as if she’s truly seeing him for the very first time, and Steve’s fighting the urge to scrape his foot against the floor in pure shame.

He hears her drag for breath, and then halt. Then drag for breath again.

“What about Lorraine?” she asks, almost defiantly. “You two seemed quite comfortable with each other just now.”

“Yeah, that wasn’t— It wasn’t my idea,” Steve mumbles. He thinks about whether or not he should clarify that further, but Peggy’s not even looking at him anymore. She’s staring down at Steve’s feet, her chest rising and falling as she struggles to keep her breathing even.

“How long have you felt that way about… other men?” she asks eventually, her voice quiet in the silent space between them.

“Always,” Steve says earnestly.

“I see.” Peggy swallows, looking up towards the ceiling. Not at Steve. It’s as if she can’t stand the sight of him. There’s a shine to her eyes that makes Steve ache to reach out and touch her, but he doesn’t.

“And…” Peggy continues slowly, “I assume that you know this because there’s… someone who has been… close to you during all that time.”

“There’s someone, yes,” Steve admits, answering her even though she didn’t really ask. 

Peggy nods, biting down on her lower lip.

“It’s Barnes, isn’t it?”

Steve looks up, staring, and for the first time since the subject was brought up, Peggy meets his gaze.

“Once you get the whole picture it’s not that hard to figure out,” she clarifies numbly. She sounds tired, as if she’s been fighting a battle for ages only to realize that she just lost. Steve clears his throat, and nods in silence.

Peggy takes a deep breath, and Steve can literally see when the professional mask falls over her face, schooling her facial expression with military discipline. It’s a cold face. Seeing it hurts.

“I guess there’s not much more to it, then,” she says. Her voice shakes a little as the words leave her mouth, but she quickly clears her throat, coughing lightly. 

Steve looks at her. Takes in the hardset line of her jaw. The tight pinch of her lips.

“No one can know about it,” he whispers. It’s a plea, really, not an order. His life, Bucky’s life… One word from Peggy to the wrong kind of people and it’s all over. He’s placing everything in her hands by doing this, and he knows that she’s aware of it too. 

Peggy’s tongue comes out to swipe across her lip in a twitchy motion, but she nods, nonetheless.

“Of course.” The words a short. Clipped. They don’t sound as reassuring as Steve would have hoped.

“Peggy, I—” He takes a deep breath, fighting down the croak in his voice. “You know you mean a lot to me, and I’m so sorry you had to find out this way, I am. I’m not asking you to… to  _ understand _ , I just—”

Explaining is suddenly too hard. Begging for acceptance? Impossible. 

His chest feels empty, his limbs heavy. With every moment that passes he feels as if he’s about to crumble from the inside out. He feels disgusted with himself, in a way that he hasn’t in a very long time. Like a villain. 

Nevertheless, it had to be done, he knows this. He already gave his heart away, a long, long time ago, and no matter how much he loves Peggy – no matter how much he  _ owes  _ her – he will never be able to love her the same way he loves Bucky. 

He simply wishes that there could have been another way to do this. A way that didn’t have to end with Peggy hating him for the rest of their lives.

“Are we still friends?” he asks quietly.

Her eyes flicker towards him. For a moment the ice he sees in them makes him feel as if he’s been frozen from the inside out. Then the furious chill melts into that same wet glaze from before, and her shoulders drop.  

“Yes,” she says, her voice growing a bit softer, even if only by just a fraction. “Yes, we’re still friends, Steve.”

She looks him in the eye. She’s sad, Steve can tell. 

He is too.

“Now, if you excuse me…” she says politely. “I think that I’d like to have a moment alone.”

Steve backs away. He doesn’t say anything else as he gives her the space she needs. There’s nothing left to say, and he leaves the room in silence, closing the door to the storage room behind him.   

Thirty minutes later, when she fires four rounds at the centre of his shield in Howard’s lab, he can’t really say that he blames her… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, darlings. I've been busy job hunting <3
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter, even though it was a bit sad =/  
> Breaking Peggy's heart hurts me horribly, but it needed to be done for the plot, so...  
> Let me know what you think in the comments, I'm looking forward to hearing your opinions as always.
> 
> Until next chapter, lovelies <3


	7. 7

**_December 2, 1943_ **

 

“Jesus Christ, Steve…” Bucky groans when Steve’s lips detach from his clavicle with a lewd smack, leaving yet another darkening bruise on his skin. “Would it kill you to hurry this up a little?”

Steve hums, but his only response is to shove Bucky even closer to the wall he’s currently got him backed up against. His leg is pressed in between Bucky’s knees, while his left hand keeps a firm grip around the swell of Bucky’s ass, using it to rock them together slowly. He has already spent the past ten minutes sucking a pattern of hickeys scattered all over Bucky’s chest and ribcage, rubbing his right hand over the bulge at the front of his partner’s pants, and Bucky’s starting to get impatient.

Bucky is pulling at his own hair, his chest heaving under Steve’s ministrations. His hips stutter against Steve’s hand as they chase after the friction, and Steve just as actively keeps it from him. Pulling away his hand for the hundredth time causes Bucky to whine deep down in his throat, and Steve chuckles against the dip of Bucky’s collarbone as he starts working on a new bruise.

Bucky gasps, and his fingers reach out to card through Steve’s hair, tugging at it in time with the slow swipes of Steve’s tongue over his skin. 

“You’re gonna fucking kill me,” Bucky rasps. He rolls his hips, moaning when Steve indulges him by keeping his hand still for Bucky to press himself against, which Bucky does. For a few seconds, at least.

“Aw, c’mon…!” Bucky hisses when Steve pulls away, the back of his head thunking against the wall.

“Patience,” Steve purrs. He smoothes his hand down the inside of Bucky’s thigh. “I’m giving you my undivided attention here,” he taunts with a smirk. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“You’re such a cocky little punk…” Bucky grits, and Steve can’t help but grin when he feels Bucky’s nails dig into his scalp.

Steve takes the hint, and he moves his leg out from in between Bucky’s knees in favor of undoing the front of Bucky’s slacks.

“About goddamn time…” Bucky moans, and his hands slip down to curl around Steve’s shoulders with a bitten out curse when Steve finally wraps his fingers around his cock.

“So messy,” Steve comments lewdly, rubbing the pad of his thumb into the glistening wetness covering the head of Bucky’s erection. “You’re practically dripping already.”

Bucky’s fingers twitch when Steve starts stroking him, and his gasp gets swallowed up by the wet heat of Steve’s mouth when Steve leans in to kiss him.

“You feel that, Buck?” Steve growls, nipping at Bucky’s lower lip. “That’s all for you.”

Bucky moans something inaudible against the seam of their mouths, and Steve decides to take it as a yes.

“You’re so beautiful,” Steve whispers softly. “So gorgeous…” Dipping his head, he starts pressing light, fluttering kisses all over Bucky’s neck, feeling Bucky’s hums of pleasure vibrate against his lips. “I swear, I could do this all day…”

“Please don’t,” Bucky gasps, the sentence breaking in half when a chuckle finds its way out of his throat at the same time. “I don’t think I’d survive that.”

“And that’d really be a shame, now wouldn’t it?” Steve says with a smirk as he picks up the pace of his hand, and Bucky keens, eagerly rocking into the touch. 

“What would I even do without you, Buck?” Steve groans as he slowly kisses his way down Bucky’s chest, suckling at and scratching his teeth against the skin as he goes. Bucky is shaking, his head rolling from side to side as he attempts to swallow down the most delicious series of noises Steve has ever heard.

It fuels him on, Bucky’s responsiveness acting like a catalyst for his own pleasure. He wants to see Bucky come undone beneath his fingertips, see his eyes roll back into his head in sheer ecstasy as Steve coaxes the orgasm out of his body. 

He can feel the blunt tips of Bucky’s fingernails dig into the flesh of his shoulders as Bucky clings to him. Bucky’s entire body is pressed flush against Steve’s own, but when Steve latches his lips over the hot beat of Bucky’s pulse, Bucky slumps, his knees buckling beneath his own weight.

Steve reaches further down with his left hand to grab around the backs of Bucky’s thighs, and promptly hoists him up. Bucky yelps, but the yelp quickly morphs into a breathless moan when Steve shoves him higher up against the wall, his hand working Bucky beneath his waistline not even faltering as the angle between their bodies shifts with the movement.

Bucky’s too far gone to even form proper sentences anymore, and whatever syllables he manages to utter are shaky and disrupted by the moans and gasps that catch at the back of his throat. Steve’s ears pick up the broken pieces of what might have been meant as a, “Close, so close,” and he smiles in spite of himself.

“C’mon, Buck,” he urges. “Let me see that pretty face of yours.”

Bucky gives a choked out noise, and then his body goes taut, arching up against Steve’s mouth and chest as he comes, spilling over Steve’s hand. Steve takes in the flush on Bucky’s cheeks, the soft curve of his lips, and the way his eyelids struggle to stay open during the euphoria, a heat that has nothing to do with arousal or physical pleasure blooming inside his chest at the sight of him.

Steve holds Bucky up in his arms, keeping him steady until the final, quaking aftershocks have worked their way through Bucky’s system and Bucky’s literally slumped over, boneless in Steve’s arms.

“There you go,” Steve whispers softly, pressing a lingering kiss to the side of Bucky’s temple. “That wasn’t so bad, now was it?” 

“You’re a horrible person…” Bucky grumbles at the same time as he wraps both his arms around Steve’s neck.

“Are you saying you want me to put you down?” Steve asks sweetly.

“No,” Bucky rejects. “Are you saying your arms are getting tired?”

“No.”

“Good.”

Steve chuckles and nuzzles his nose against Bucky’s jaw line.

“You’re my everything, Buck,” he whispers, closing his eyes. “You know that, right?”

“I’m starting to get used to the thought,” Bucky admits drowsily. 

“Well you better,” Steve cautions him dryly. “Because there will never be anyone else. Do you hear me?”

Bucky snorts out a laugh against Steve’s shoulder as his grip around his neck tightens.

“Loud and clear, sweetheart,” he whispers contently. “Loud and clear.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some smut drabble for ya'll this time ;)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it <3  
> See you again soon!


	8. 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains light d/s elements and mentions of minor painplay

**_January 20, 1944_ **

 

Steve’s fingers curl around the edges of his sleeping bag, and he breathes a strangled moan into the fabric, trying to hold his noises back. 

“Good spot, huh?” Bucky drawls from behind him, and Steve nods, gritting his teeth together to keep quiet when Bucky thrusts in again, slower. Their tent ain’t exactly the most private of places to be doing this, but they don’t really have that many options.

The rest of the Commandos – save for Dugan who has first watch – are all sound asleep in their own tents already, but as always, staying quiet is still a necessity. Steve is painfully aware of this and really does his best to keep that silence. Bucky, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to give a shit.

Steve is shaking, in spite of practically being fully dressed still, not counting the fact that Bucky’s currently got the pants of Steve’s uniform shoved down around Steve’s ankles where they're both kneeling on the ground, with Steve bent over his cot. Bucky is more or less dressed too, and with each thrust he gives, Steve can feel the chill of Bucky's metal belt buckle brush against the back of his thighs.

The nights in Europe are cold during the winter, even in the south. No matter how much the two of them would have preferred the tantalizing heat of skin on skin, body temperature alone unfortunately can’t match the warmth of a good old military henley.

Steve whimpers, clawing at the edges of the cot’s wooden frame when Bucky pulls him back fully over his cock in a single slide. He doesn’t need to see Bucky’s face to know that he’s looking down at him from above, lower lip caught between his teeth as his eyes roam over the creases of Steve’s rumpled uniform.

Bucky loves to fuck Steve while he’s in uniform. Loves the fact that he’s the only one who has the grand privilege of seeing Steve Rogers –  _ Captain America _ – debauched in such a way. Needy, trembling with want, gasping and panting in something that can only be described as a euphoric delirium. 

Steve knows that Bucky loves it, because Bucky never passes up a chance to tell him so.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” Bucky whispers softly. Steve’s breath hitches when Bucky’s grip around his hips grows tighter. The hands set a quicker pace, and for a few seconds Steve can barely breathe as Bucky fucks into him, hard, only to slow down to the same, aching grind as before just a moment later.

“So pretty… And all of it for me.” 

“Buck—” Steve chokes, “Bucky, please… No more…”

Steve is leaking. There’s a constant string of precome oozing from the tip of his cock, which is hanging stiff between his legs, dripping onto the ground by his knees. Bucky still hasn’t touched it. Hasn’t even come close to it yet, and Steve honestly feels as if he’s just about ready to give away his entire military career for the mere  _ promise  _ of Bucky’s hand on him.

“It’s okay, darlin’,” Bucky coos, smirking when he hears Steve plead. “I’ve got you.” Fingers smooth their way up underneath the front of Steve’s uniform as Bucky’s right hand comes around to rub soothing circles over his chest. “I’ll always have you…”

Steve moans, arching into Bucky’s touch, and he feels Bucky lean forward, pressing his forehead down against the dip between Steve’s shoulder blades as he wraps both arms around Steve’s torso.

“Tell me how you’re feeling, sugar,” Bucky whispers.

“G—good…” Steve gulps.

“Just good?” Bucky teases.

“No.” Steve shakes his head, his face rubbing against the fabric of the sleeping bag. “No, it’s— it’s amazing, Buck, you’re amazing. Jesus…” 

“Yeah…” A quake runs through Bucky’s body, shaking the word as he presses in closer, the smirk audible in his voice. “I guess I am.”

Steve buries another cry in the crook of his elbow when Buck picks up the pace, and Bucky’s arms tense around Steve’s upper body, holding him in place while he drives into him even harder.

Steve has noticed it. The way Bucky has begun to get rougher during sex nowadays. He doesn’t mind, not at all. In fact, he actually likes it. They both know that this kind of rough treatment would have been too much for Steve’s old body to handle, given all the complications and afflictions he had suffered back then. This body is stronger. Fully capable of taking everything Bucky can give to him, and then some. 

It has almost become a game. Bucky spending hours sucking hickeys all over Steve’s body in the evenings, just to see if at least one of them will still be there in the morning when they wake up. Bucky, fucking into him so hard, Steve’s knees and hands slip over the ground, and yet three hours later, there’s not as much as a scratch from it visible on Steve’s skin. Bucky, biting down on Steve’s shoulder hard enough to draw blood, to keep himself quiet when he orgasms, but when he pulls away there’s nothing left behind to see. Not even a bruise. 

Having the serum in his system means that Steve's body is indeed more durable and heals faster than a normal body would, but things still hurt, to an extent. When it comes to his and Bucky's sex life, Steve's pretty darn grateful for it.

Steve never thought that pain would be something he’d ever associate with gratifying sex, but apparently he was wrong about that. He’s come to realize that if used in just the right amounts, in just the right ways, the line between pain and pleasure becomes blurred, forming a unity that sets off a chain reaction of bliss inside his body unlike anything Steve’s ever felt, and Bucky… Well, Bucky knows just how to use that knowledge to his own advantage.

It’s not always pain that does the trick, however.

Tonight, for example, is yet another pleasurable attempt to see exactly how much attention – or lack thereof – Steve’s body is capable of handling. It had been Bucky’s idea, naturally. Bucky has always loved bringing Steve to the brink of incoherent babbling, and the fact that they are currently on a military mission obviously hasn’t done anything to quell those urges in the slightest. Bucky is stubborn, sometimes to the point of being reckless, and at the moment, Steve’s torn between loving and hating him for it.

“Gonna make you come just like this, Stevie,” Bucky purrs, snapping his hips forward. “Without even touching you, just like we said. Not even if you  _ beg me _ .”

Steve can only nod. He doesn’t have a voice anymore, not one that he trusts, anyway. The cot he’s slumped over is rocking in time with their bodies, its wooden legs almost lifting off of the ground. Steve is biting his lip, his hands shaking with how hard his fingers are curled around the wooden edges of the bed. 

“You wanna come?” Bucky asks sweetly.

Steve nods again, but this time, Bucky’s not having it.

“You’ve gotta speak up, Steve,” he teases, panting in between the words, and Steve can hear that he’s smiling. “How am I supposed to know what you want unless you tell me?”

Another thrust has Steve near choking on his own breath, and he arches his back up against Bucky’s chest, craving more contact.

“So,” Bucky almost chuckles. “ _ Do _ you wanna come? Or should I slow down again?”

“No…!” Steve gulps, and his hand leaves the cot to grasp for Bucky’s hand through the material of his uniform. “No, please, don’t…! I wanna come. I want—” 

He can’t finish the sentence. His voice fails him when he hears Bucky lets out a wicked laugh against his back. Next thing, his mind goes numb when it becomes clear that Bucky actually intends to keep his word and make him come without so much as the stroke of a finger.

Bucky rocks his hips faster, sending sparks shooting up the length of Steve’s spine. It’s ice and fire, spiking through his nerves and lighting him up from the inside out. It’s bliss and torture, mixing with every other possible contradictory kind of pleasure that Steve’s capable of comprehending, and it’s  _ Bucky _ , and he’s  _ everything  _ and  _ everywhere.  _

“Buck…!” Steve gasps the name into the sleeping bag. “Bucky, oh, Buck, Bucky,  _ Buck-y…! _ ”

Bucky’s response is a hum, low and pleased, and for some reason that’s what does it. Not a moan or a gasp; just that smug little noise at the back of Bucky’s throat, and Steve’s coming. He comes so hard he’s convinced that if he hadn’t already been bent over his cot, he would have ended up crashing straight down onto the ground. 

His knees shake, his toes curl, and Bucky’s not stopping. He fucks him through it, until Steve’s practically sobbing, and then he gives a final series of shallow thrusts before burying himself deep, spilling inside Steve’s body and slumping down over his back with a muffled groan.

Steve is so out of it that he can barely move. He feels Bucky’s chest heave against his back while they come down together, and it’s not until several minutes have passed that he becomes aware of the fact that they hadn’t exactly been as quiet as Steve had planned.

“Hey,” he croaks, jostling Bucky with his shoulder. “You think the others heard?”

“They’re sleeping,” Bucky assures him, the words slow and drowsy against Steve’s right shoulder blade.

“Are you sure?” Steve says with a disbelieving snort. “Because  _ I’m  _ pretty sure we just woke up half the forest.”

“Nobody heard, Stevie. And even if they did, it’s not as if they don’t already know what we do in here when the lights go out.”

Steve sighs, but he can’t exactly argue, because he knows it to be true. Even if Steve and Bucky hadn’t told them about the nature of their relationship, their little group has spent so much time together that it really ought to have become obvious by now. None of the Commandos will say anything to anyone, of course. They owe Steve too much to go running their mouths about something like that, should they even want to. Even if they  _ weren’t _ his friends. 

So Steve isn’t worried that people hearing them through the canvas of their tent will lead to him and Bucky being found out; he just doesn’t want to force his and Bucky’s activities on the others without their permission. It is disrespectful, not to mention embarrassing. For everyone involved except Bucky, it seems.

“You know, if you can’t keep your mouth shut, I guess I’m just gonna have to gag you next time,” Bucky offers graciously.

“Or,” Steve suggests with an eyeroll, “you could learn to show some restraint.”

“Yeah, not gonna happen.”

“Of course not,” Steve sighs, giving up the argument. “I guess that would be an impossible request considering the circumstances. After all, you always did have a thing for the uniform…”

"I did ask you to keep it, didn't I?" Bucky hums, that satisfied little tone from before chiming through at the end of his sentence.

“You  _ do _ realize that the uniform makes me a national icon?” Steve cocks an eyebrow as he glances at Bucky over his shoulder. “You should be grateful that I’m even allowing you to defile it like this.”

“And  _ I _ think  _ you  _ should be grateful that you get to have my dick up your ass on a near daily basis, but I don’t hear any thanks from you,” Bucky retorts cockily.

“Just shut your mouth and get off me,” Steve says, snorting out a laugh as he playfully elbows Bucky in the side. “Before I use my authority to turn this into a one-man tent.” 

“Whatever you say,  _ Captain, _ ” Bucky shoots back, grinning as he presses a final, teasing kiss against the side of Steve’s neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading guys <3   
> Hope you all are having an awesome day!


	9. 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends <3  
> I'm so sorry that this chapter has taken so long, I've been struggling to find the time to finish it properly. I'll do my best to keep the upcoming chapters more regular, I promise :)  
> Please enjoy!

**_April 29, 1944_ **

 

It’s quick and sloppy, the way Bucky downright shoves his tongue into Steve’s mouth once they’re alone, and Steve lets himself get pushed up against the nearest tree without so much as a stagger in his steps.

They’re outside the camp. The moon is out, but through the thick of the branches above their heads the light is still just barely enough to outline their faces in the dark. Bucky’s body is warm where it presses in against Steve’s own, and his hands grip around the curve of Steve’s jaw as if he’s afraid that Steve is going to disappear.

“Hey,” Steve breathes, trying to pull away from Bucky’s enthusiastic kisses long enough to make his voice heard. “It’s alright, Buck. It’s okay, slow down.”

“No,” is all Bucky says, shaking his head in refusal before he dives back in, and his mouth seals itself over Steve’s own with a groan that makes Steve’s toes curl inside his boots. Steve decides that it’s useless to argue. Bucky has got his mind set on the task now, and he won’t be changing it anytime soon.

Of course, Steve knows why his lover is acting the way he is. It’s not exactly hard to figure out.

Today has been a bad day. There have been too many close calls, some of them closer than others. Bucky nearly got his head shot off point blank by a Hydra agent with an assault rifle during their recon mission. Steve had only just been close enough to make sure it didn’t actually happen. 

One ambush. Just one, and everything had been close to ending. It’s a realization that does things to your mind, to the way you think, and Steve knows that Bucky has spent the entire day going over the possible scenarios in his head, processing the different consequences today could have brought them. 

This morning, they went into the fight being cocky, and it had almost ended up costing them their lives.

But, in spite of everything, they  _ are  _ still alive.

Right here and right now, they’re  _ alive _ , and from the look of things, Bucky is apparently dead set on making the most out of it. There are too many emotions, too many raw feelings than what they can express in words, and Steve can tell that Bucky is trying to use his body to convey the things his voice cannot.

Steve lets out a low hiss, startled out of his line of thought when Bucky’s teeth find his lip and nip at it.

“Focus,” Bucky scolds softly, licking over the skin. “I don’t wanna do this by myself.”

Steve chuckles, but his laugh quickly morphs into a moan when Bucky’s left hand promptly reaches down to cup him through the pants of his uniform.

“Jesus, Buck,” he gasps, but he pushes into the touch nonetheless. Bucky hums, and his lips abandon Steve’s mouth to work the side of his neck instead. He sucks at Steve’s pulse, nibbles at his ears, rubs and strokes him through the front of his pants until Steve’s leaning back against the tree, helplessly rolling his hips into Bucky’s palm. Bucky is pressed so close, Steve can practically taste him in every breath he takes, and yet he still doesn’t feel like he’s anywhere close  _ enough _ .

“You saved my life today,” Bucky growls against the pulse on Steve’s neck. The hand not currently rubbing against Steve’s crotch fists the red straps at the front of his uniform as Bucky comes up to nip at the lobe of Steve’s ear. “I figure I owe you for that…”

“You don’t have to—” Steve starts, but Bucky cuts him off by tugging once, hard on the strap in his hand.

“Just shut up and let me do this. Think you can manage that?” he says, almost snarling the words against Steve’s mouth. They’re hurried, possessive and  _ needy _ , and Steve nods, breathing out an obedient ‘okay,’ just as Bucky’s lips latch onto his once more.

They kiss, breathing hot and ragged into each other’s mouths while Bucky fumbles with Steve’s pants. Once he gets them open, Bucky abandons the kiss to lick and bite his way down as far as he can reach, before Steve’s collar stops him. Then he simply drops to his knees, pulling at the hem of Steve’s pants to bring them further down.

“Buck…” Steve groans, his fingers threading through the hair at the top of Bucky’s head while Bucky pulls the garment out of the way along with Steve’s underwear.

Bucky’s mouth is warm and wet as it wraps around Steve’s shaft, and Steve tips his head to lean it against the tree pressing in against his back. Shit, he’s almost forgotten how good Bucky is as this, but the memories are quickly returning with every new flick of Bucky’s tongue, every slide of his lips against Steve’s skin.

Steve reaches his left hand back to skate his fingers over the tree trunk, searching for something to hold on to while the ones on his right continue to card through Bucky’s hair. He can feel Bucky move beneath his hand, the strands tickling his palm while Bucky bobs his head, hollowing his cheeks to create suction. It makes Steve’s head spin, and his nails dig into the birch of the tree when Bucky lets out a muffled moan that reverberates through Steve’s cock like a physical touch.

Steve looks down, and his stomach nearly curls in on itself with arousal when he sees the cause of Bucky’s moan. Bucky’s got the pants of his own uniform unzipped, the hand not currently wrapped around the base of Steve’s erection shoved down the front of them, moving in telltale jerks while he sucks Steve off.

Steve gasps and then moans, he can’t help himself. The sound of his own voice is throaty, raw in a way that he hadn’t expected so soon, and Bucky echoes it eagerly, sending another ripple of vibrations down Steve’s cock. 

The sound alone nearly has Steve’s knees buckling, and his fingers slip from Bucky’s hairline as he finds himself grabbing for the tree trunk with his other hand as well. He’s breathing hard through his nose, trying to keep his hips still, and he nearly whimpers when Bucky pulls off for air.

“Well, would you look at that,” Bucky says cockily, letting out a throaty chuckle. “Looks like I’ve got the mighty Captain America on the ropes here. Had I known it was gonna be this easy, I would’ve done this a lot soon—”

Steve doesn’t let him finish the sentence. Bucky is cut off by his own yelp when Steve reaches down and hauls him up by the collar of his jacket, spinning around and slamming him up against the trunk with a low snarl. He towers over him, crowding Bucky against the tree, and he just barely catches the sight of the excited spark lighting up behind Bucky’s full-blown pupils before Bucky’s surging up to kiss him, hard.

Suddenly, it’s a competition. Fingers find flesh, curling around it, hot and hard while they lean in and push against one another, fighting for balance. The pace is swift, every gasp a challenge, every shiver a little slice of victory, and neither one of them is backing down.

Bucky’s hands are pure magic, his unoccupied fingers rubbing and kneading all over Steve’s body, as far as he can reach. It’s amazing, that even through the thick material of his uniform, Bucky still manages to find the exact spots that make hot white sparks flash in front of Steve’s eyes.

Steve can feel the edge coming closer, and his free hand reaches up to clasp around the back of Bucky’s neck, pulling him in for another bruising kiss.

“You’re close,” Steve decides confidently, barely managing to hold back a groan when Bucky twists his wrist  _ just so _ on the upstroke, making his head soar. “I can tell you’re close…”

“Is that so?” Bucky whispers back, licking across his lower lip as his hips stutter into Steve’s fist. 

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. 

“Sweetheart, you’re not far behind,” Bucky says as his lip curls up into a smirk. “And I know just how to make you get there…” He nips at Steve’s lip, chuckling at the gasp his action coaxes out of Steve’s lungs. “You wanna come, don’t you?” 

“How about you make me?” Steve hisses, his eyelids fluttering as he sends Bucky a challenging glare.

“Oh, honey,” Bucky breathes as he leans in even closer, “I’m about to—”

He lets out a strangled groan, swaying on his feet when Steve’s hand suddenly picks up pace, and his free hand scrambles up Steve’s side to grab around his shoulder, steadying himself.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Steve taunts, smirking when Bucky glowers up at him from underneath his lashes, eyelids swaying on half mast. It’s a look just as threatening as it is arousing, and it nearly sends Steve stumbling over the edge right then and there.

“I wanna see you come, Buck,” Steve whispers, nuzzling his nose against Bucky’s jaw line, scraping his teeth over his pulse as he pulls him closer. “Damn, you’re so gorgeous like this. So alive, so  _ intense. _ ”

Bucky moans, his eyes sliding fully shut as his head tips back to give Steve’s mouth more access. His pelvis rolls, the air rushing up and down his throat, and Steve listens to his every breath, feeling a fire coil in the pit of his stomach with each of Bucky’s gasps.

“Yeah, like that,” he encourages, suckling at Bucky’s neck. “Just like that… So good for me, Buck. So beautiful when you come for me.”

“You’re cheating…” Bucky says with an accusing whimper. 

“I know.”

_ “Fuck…” _

A quake courses through Steve’s body when Bucky’s hissed out curse reaches his ears, and he can feel Bucky’s chest rise and fall against his own in rapid intakes of breath.

“Wanna come with you,” Bucky whispers. His voice is insistent, almost frenzied. “Wanna feel you in my hand…”

“Okay,” Steve says, nodding breathlessly. “Okay.”

“Shit, Steve, I’m gonna lose it,” Bucky whimpers. “I’m gonna fucking lose it, Stevie…” 

“I know. I know, Buck, I know.”

“Gonna come,” Bucky gasps, and his fingers on Steve’s shoulder slip down to curl around Steve’s upper arm. “Gonna come… Gonna come, gonna come, gonna co— oh— _ Steve…! _ ”

Steve groans, swallowing Bucky’s cry with an eager press of his lips when he feels the hot slick of the other’s release coat his hand. The muffled sound of Bucky’s voice shakes his insides, winds its way through his veins like a wildfire as it pushes Steve over the edge, shaking and thrusting into Bucky’s trembling hand.   

Bucky keeps kissing him through it, and Steve reciprocates as well as he can. It’s clumsy and uncoordinated, just saliva slicked lips moving lazily in the afterglow as they come back down. 

Once the world stops spinning around them, Steve leans his head down against Bucky’s shoulder. He lets out a snicker against the side of his partners’ neck, grinning even wider when he hears Bucky answer with a similar sound.

“Does this mean it’s a tie?” Steve says with a breathless laugh, feeling Bucky’s shoulders shake when he tries to stifle his own giggles against Steve’s clavicle. 

“I’m not sure,” Bucky manages, wobbling slightly when Steve pulls away, “but it sure doesn’t feel like I lost.”

Steve shakes his head, still smiling as he kneels down to wipe his hand off on the grass by their feet, Bucky following suit. The grass is moist from dew, and they actually manage to get fairly clean; at least enough so that washing off properly can wait until they get back to camp. 

“Hey,” Bucky says suddenly, and when Steve looks up, Bucky is holding out his compass towards him. The lid is open, the black and white cutout of Peggy’s portrait barely visible in the dusk. “You dropped this.”

“Oh. I didn’t notice, thanks.”

Steve takes the compass and closes the lid, tucking it back inside his pocket. 

“Wouldn’t wanna lose that,” he says, smiling.

“You better not,” Bucky says with a snort. “It was expensive.”

Steve laughs as he stands up, adjusting himself and his clothes to make himself presentable again, while Bucky does the same to his own pants.

Bucky had given Steve that compass during their first day in London, after they’d come back from Italy. As a gift for finally joining the army, Bucky had jokingly told him, but Steve suspects that there had been more to it than just that. Nevertheless, he’s very fond of it, and losing it in some dark forest in southern France is the last thing he wants to do.

“You know, I still can’t believe she actually let you use that picture,” Bucky says suddenly, straightening the front of his jacket. Steve stills.

“She insisted, actually,” He says with a cautious shrug. “It’s a good cover, and she wants to help in whatever way she can.”

“Yeah, that’s something I never would have thought,” Bucky says with a chuckle. “Considering the situation.”

“She did warn us about the movie crew,” Steve points out.

“And thank God for that,” Bucky says with a dramatic eyeroll. “Can you imagine what would have happened if they had showed up that morning and found us sleeping together?”

“I prefer not to think about that,” Steve admits with a smile. “It was unsettling enough having them here. I barely dared to look at you the entire week.”

“Tell me about it,” Bucky says before adding with a smirk, “Good thing we got some well deserved leave of absence after that.”

“That was pretty nice, yeah,” Steve agrees, smiling back. It was indeed a vacation that he – and their hotel room – wouldn’t be forgetting about any time soon.

“You know,” Bucky drawls with a contemplative purse to his lips, “next time we get back to London, maybe we should invite Peggy out for a drink with us?”

He says it like it’s nothing. As if he basically just suggested for them to have chicken for dinner instead of steak, and Steve looks up, his eyebrow arching.

“You’d be okay with that?” he asks, genuinely surprised as he searches Bucky’s face for any sign of contempt or sarcasm. He doesn’t find either.

“She’s a friend, isn’t she?” Bucky shrugs, looking down at his hands as he fiddles with his belt. “I mean, you said it yourself. Being seen with her makes a good cover for the both of us, and… when push comes to shove, I guess she’s not all that bad.”

Steve stares. Bucky’s not looking at him, but Steve knows what this is, and it’s not a trick; Bucky’s above that sort of thing. No. This is a  _ peace offering _ , and Steve licks his lips, glancing down at his feet.

Bucky and Peggy are actually getting along better now than what he would have thought possible a few months ago. Their interactions have been brief and restricted by their respective profession, but… lately, Steve’s been detecting hints of acceptance between the two. Like a cat and dog finally learning how to get along, and so far, the results have been… reassuring. 

Peggy and Steve may be just friends, but it would indeed be nice to know that his best friend and boyfriend were actually capable of socializing with one another.

“Well,” Steve says carefully, “since she’s not trying to shoot me on sight nowadays, maybe she wouldn’t be all that averse to the idea…” He glances at Bucky. “Do you wanna ask her about it?”

“Sure,” Bucky agrees. He sends Steve a long, empathic look. “It’s about time Peggy and I buried the hatchet now after all, don’t you think?”

Steve dares a grateful little smile at that, and Bucky smiles right back. It’s all the confirmation Steve needs, and it warms his chest from the inside out.

“We should head back,” Bucky says, taking a few steps down the way they originally came. “I’m beat and I wanna sleep.”

“Whatever you say,” Steve agrees as he falls in beside him, “but if you snore again, I’m kicking you out of the tent.”

“Blah, blah, blah,” Bucky mocks, grimacing. “Threaten all you want, we both know you’re too lazy to even crack a joke, once you hit the hay.”

“True,” Steve admits as he steps over a tree stump sitting in their path, “but I still have super hearing, and listening to you sawing logs all night makes sleeping very difficult.”

“Then perhaps we just shouldn’t  _ sleep _ ?” Bucky says, winking lewdly as he looks at him from the corner of his eye, and Steve laughs and he shoves Bucky in the side, causing him to stumble.

“You’re unbelievable” he says affectionately. “I’m supposed to be the one with enhanced stamina here, not you.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Bucky objects, grinning as he straightens back up. “You know you love me.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, sending the other a fond smile. “Unfortunately, I do.”

  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading guys <3  
> If you liked the chapter and/or the story so far, please let me know in the comments below :)


	10. 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since a few of you have been asking about updates and such, I can announce that for this story, I'm going to try and keep the updates to Thursdays from now on :)  
> I had originally planned to keep it to Saturdays, but Thursday feels like a better day, since I'm usually busy during the weekend.  
> Soooo, get going reading, and I'll have a new chapter ready for you in a week :)

**_July 3, 1944  (23:28 pm)_ **

 

“Hey,” Steve says quietly as he carefully peeks in through the opening of the tent, and Bucky turns a drowsy squint towards the sound of his voice, blinking himself awake. Steve ducks inside, balancing a canteen bottle and a steaming cup of soup in his hand.  

“I brought you dinner,” he announces cheerfully, setting the items down next to Bucky’s cot.

“Thanks, darlin’,” Bucky grates, his voice thick with lingering sleep. He clears his throat and rubs the heel of his right hand against his eye. He looks a little pale still, Steve notices. “What time is it?”

“Almost half past eleven,” Steve says softly.

“In the morning?” Bucky asks, eyes widening in surprise, but Steve just shakes his head with a laugh.

“In the evening,” he corrects. “You’ve been asleep for about six hours.”

“Oh.” Bucky slumps back down, visibly relieved. “For a moment there I thought I’d slept an entire day.”

“Some of the guys were betting on it,” Steve says, smiling fondly. Then his face grows serious as he nods towards Bucky’s shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

Bucky follows his gaze, turning his eyes down and to the side to look at the gauze wrapped around his left shoulder.

“It’s throbbing,” he says earnestly. “And hurts like hell.”

Steve’s face promptly drops as the guilt comes flooding back in, but Bucky only grimaces at him.

“Oh, stop it,” he orders sternly. “This was my fault, not yours.”

“It _was_ my fault,” Steve insists.

“No, it _wasn’t_ ,” Bucky argues.

“I wasn’t fast enough.”

“And _I_ wasn’t _attentive_ enough,” Bucky counters sharply. His tone is hard, perhaps more so than he had intended, because he immediately slumps back down onto the cot with a deep sigh towards the ceiling. “Please, Steve, can we _not_ fight about this?” he asks. “At least not until I’ve healed enough to actually beat some sense into you?”

Steve snorts out a bitter laugh in spite of himself, but it’s still a laugh, and he can tell from the way Bucky’s lip twitches up into a smile that Bucky takes it as a sign that the argument’s been won.

“Who made the soup?” Bucky asks, quickly changing the subject. Slowly, he eases  himself up into a sitting position, and Steve can tell that Bucky’s trying not to hiss when his shoulder gives a sharp twinge of pain as a result. For a moment, Steve contemplates reaching out to help, but then decides not to. Bucky’s shoulder has already been injured; Steve has a fair suspicion that his lover won’t be in need of any further wounds to his pride as well.

“Jim,” he answers instead, just as Bucky throws his legs over the side of the cot to reach for the steaming cup on the ground.

“Good,” Bucky says, blowing gently at the content. “Last time Falsworth tried to cook, I thought I was gonna die from food poisoning.”

“I’m sure that wasn’t his fault,” Steve tries benevolently.

“And I’m pretty sure it _was_ ,” Bucky objects calmly before bringing the cup to his mouth, taking a sip. He swallows it down with a grimace.

“You rotten liar,” he mutters, setting the cup back down on ground with a dirty look at the liquid sloshing around inside it.

“It was worth a shot,” Steve defends himself with a simple shrug. “You need to eat something.”

“Eating that would only make me worse, believe me,” Bucky says stubbornly. ”Besides, I’m not really that hungry. Not yet at least.” He looks down at the cup and then back at Steve’s face. “Sorry you had to go through all the trouble of bringing it here. I don’t wanna sound ungrateful.”

“It’s alright,” Steve promises. He throws a stealthy look over his shoulder and then looks back at Bucky, smiling as he lowers his voice into a confiding whisper. “If it helps, I poured _my_ serving out into the ditch behind the supply truck.”

At that, Bucky starts laughing, but he stops with an abrupt grimace when the effort causes a new zing of pain to flash up his arm. This time, he can’t hold back the groan that pushes past his lips, and Steve can see his fingers curl around the wooden frame of the cot as Bucky tries to will the pain back down. To Steve, it is a painful sight to witness, knowing that there’s nothing he can do to help.

“You should rest,” he says firmly, already moving to help Bucky back lie down on the cot.

“I’m fine,” Bucky tries, but Steve is having none of it.

“You’ve been _shot_ , Buck,” he points out sternly. “Most people would say that’s far from being ‘fine’.”

“Maybe,” Bucky says. “But then again, you’re not dating most people, are you?”

“I am not,” Steve agrees, his lip curling into a soft smile before he points to the cot. “Now lie back down.”

“Only if you lie down with me,” Bucky barters.

“The cot’s not strong enough to hold us both,” Steve argues.

“Fine. Then we’ll lie on the ground. Help me pull the sleeping bags down.”

“Oh, so now you wanna get sick too?” Steve says, rolling his eyes. “The ground ain't exactly warm.”

“Your body _alone_ is warm enough to heat up an entire house in the middle of a snowstorm,” Bucky points out, already using the hand of his unbandaged arm to yank his sleeping bag out from under him. “There’s no way I’ll get sick with you lying next to me.”

Again, Steve rolls his eyes to the tarp above their heads. How come _he_ got stuck with the stubborn boyfriend? Then he gets up and obediently pulls the sleeping bag down from his own cot on the opposite side of the tent. In less than a minute or two, they're lying together on top of their new makeshift bed, Bucky on his side with his back pressed up against Steve’s front.  

Steve makes sure that he doesn’t jostle Bucky’s injured arm when he slowly reaches around to wrap his own around Bucky’s midsection, pulling him in close. Bucky sighs contently at the gesture and snuggles against the warmth of Steve’s body while grabbing and holding Steve’s arm in place with his right hand.

“Happy?” Steve murmurs against his neck, and Bucky hums in agreement. Steve can feel the shiver that runs down Bucky's spine when Steve’s breath tickles the hairs at the nape of his neck, and when Steve presses his lips to the same spot, Bucky cants his head to the side, giving him more access.

“That feels nice,” Bucky murmurs, sighing when Steve’s lips move up to kiss just behind his ear. Steve gives him a confirming little sound, his thumb swiping back and forth over the span of Bucky’s chest.

It _is_ nice, Steve admits to himself. Nicer than lying by yourself in some old wooden cot, for sure, and he can’t help but smile as he breathes in the familiar scent of Bucky's hair.

“You wanna know a secret?” Bucky suddenly mumbles under his breath.

“What?” Steve asks curiously, lowering his voice to match the volume of Bucky’s own. He can practically hear it when Bucky’s lip twitches, curling up into a smile.

“I’m fucking sick of sleeping in tents.”

Steve snorts out a laugh, the warm puff of it ghosting down beneath the edge of Bucky's collar.

“Yeah,” Steve says, smiling. “Me too.”

“God, I miss beds,” Bucky moans longingly. ”Not like the small ones they keep back at base, but the big kind, you know?”

“I miss _your_ bed,” Steve says. “Back in Brooklyn.”

“That squeaky old thing?” Bucky chuckles. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Steve admits, before lowering his voice back into a whisper. “I also miss being alone with you,” he confesses. “Being able to go to sleep and wake up with you. I miss being able to lock the doors around us and not come back out for an entire weekend.”

He feels something inside his chest pull tight at his he hears the words spoken out loud, and he swallows thickly.

“I miss watching you make us pancakes in the morning,” he continues softly, kissing Bucky’s neck at the end of the sentence. “I miss being able to hug you whenever I want. To kiss you. I miss being able to see your face clearly when we make love at night…”

“I miss that too,” Bucky whispers. He slides his hand down from where it’s curled around Steve’s arm and grabs hold around the wrist instead, bringing Steve’s hand up to his mouth. He presses his lips hard against Steve’s knuckles, as if he's trying to keep the emotions wrestling inside Steve's chest at bay. Or inside his own, Steve can't tell.

“You know,” Steve says. “When we get back home, I say we go looking for a house together.”

“A _house?_ ” Bucky laughs incredulously. “With what money?”

“Whatever money I can get,” Steve declares proudly. “Technically, I’m an officer now, so I have a pretty decent income. And I doubt that Captain America will have any trouble finding a new job once the war’s over.”

“Probably not…” Bucky agrees quietly.

“But…?” Steve prompts, hearing the doubtful tone, and Bucky sighs.

“But how do we explain that Captain America, who’s been shown carrying around a picture of a fellow female officer in his pocket in movie theaters all over the country, is suddenly living in a house together with his male second in command rather than her?”

Steve tenses. Bucky waits.

“I—” Steve clears his throat. “I didn’t really think about that.”

“No,” Bucky agrees numbly. “I guess you didn’t.”

Steve sighs, and the clenching feeling inside his chest returns. Just like that, he feels like a complete tool.

“I wish things were different, Buck,” he whispers, pressing his brow closer to the back of Bucky’s head. “I really do.”

“It’s not your fault, okay?” Bucky says, and his fingers grip tighter around Steve’s hand. “We’ll think of something. We always do.”

“It’s not just that,” Steve objects. “I mean—”

“I know,” Bucky soothes. “Trust me, sweetheart, I know…”

“We could leave America,” Steve suggests carefully. “Stay in Europe?”

“You think that would be wise?” Bucky asks. He’s frowning, Steve can hear it. “People recognize you around here too, you know.”

“Only when I’m wearing the uniform,” Steve objects.

“So you’re saying that you wanna elope to Europe?” Bucky says sarcastically, turning his head to look at Steve over his shoulder.

“Sure, why not?” Steve answers, looking perfectly sincere. Bucky keeps staring at him for another few moments, and then he turns back around, laughing under his breath.

“You know, sometimes I think that serum seriously messed up your head. You’ve gone completely insane.”

“Maybe,” Steve chuckles, tightening his grip around Bucky’s torso once more. “But you still love me, I hope?”

“Naturally,” Bucky confesses, smiling. “After all, it’s not as if I can stop.”

“Thank God for that,” Steve grins, pulling Bucky even closer.

Bucky laughs, twisting his upper body, and Steve meets him with a kiss on the lips halfway around. It’s soft and tender, sweet in every possible way, and it melts the trouble away from Steve’s heart like a fire to a candle.

He wants to keep the kiss going for longer, but the throbbing in Bucky's shoulder soon becomes too much, and they have to break away.

“I love you, Buck,” Steve whispers softly.

“I love you too,” Bucky breathes back. Then he chuckles. “With or without your goddamn house.”

Steve snorts out a laugh, and then he kisses Bucky again. Bucky lets him, but in the middle of the kiss he abruptly pulls away to stare up at Steve’s face.

“What?” Steve asks, the worry returning with a gut wrenching twist to his insides. “Are you okay? Did I hurt your shoulder?”

“No, no, I’m fine.” Bucky dismisses him before quickly continuing, “what time is it?”

“Don’t know,” Steve confesses, still worried. “Around midnight, maybe?”

At that, Bucky grins and sits up. Twisting around as far as his injured shoulder will let him, he then reaches down to grab Steve by the collar to pull him up into a heated kiss.

It lasts longer this time. It’s passionate and fierce, and Bucky obviously does his best to pour every last ounce of energy that he can muster into it. When they finally break apart, Steve feels close to crosseyed.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” Bucky whispers softly, smiling as he presses his lips one final time against Steve’s mouth.

“Thanks. But we don’t even know if it’s past midnight yet,” Steve objects meekly, but Bucky waves him off with a snort.

“It’s bound to be the fourth _somewhere_ by now,” he says, settling back down onto the sleeping bag. “A few minutes won’t make a difference.”

“If you say so,” Steve agrees humbly, still feeling slightly breathless as he rearranges himself to tenderly curl around Bucky’s body once more.

“I don’t have a gift for you,” Bucky confesses quietly. “I was hoping that we’d get to report back to London one more time before today, but things didn’t really work out like that. Hope you’re not too disappointed?”

“I don’t need any gifts, Buck,” Steve assures him, squeezing him tight. “I’ve already got everything I want right here.”

“Smooth talker,” Bucky says, stifling a yawn behind the back of his hand. He’s obviously getting tired again, and Steve doesn't blame him. Getting struck by a bullet is very seldom a rejuvenating experience.

“Is there anything you need?” Steve asks quietly. “Water? Something for the pain?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Bucky promises. “I just wanna stay like this for a little while, if that’s alright?”

“Sure thing.”

Steve leans over and places a gentle kiss on the side of Bucky’s temple before pulling back. He can feel Bucky's back and shoulders tense against his chest when he does it, and he knows without having to see that the gesture’s got Bucky valiantly struggling to swallow down an emotional lump in his throat.

Bucky has always been easy to read. He wears his heart pinned to his sleeve, like a soldier would a medal of honor to the chest, and Steve's always loved him for it. Steve knows when Bucky's happy or when he's sad, and right now he's perfectly aware of the many sentiments that are most likely causing Bucky’s throat to pull tight around the man’s windpipe.

“Hey…?” Bucky croaks, and when Steve glances over, he can actually see the muscles in Bucky's jaw work to keep the tidal wave of emotions in check.

“Hm?” he hums drowsily, trying to sound as if he's on the verge of sleep already, to spare Bucky the embarrassment.

“We _are_ going back home, aren’t we?” Bucky asks. His voice is barely that of a whisper, and Steve can hear how close to tears he is. “Once the war’s over?”

“Of course we are,” Steve soothes softly, pressing his lips against the back of Bucky’s neck one final time. “I'm not leaving here without you, Buck. I promise.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading guys, I really appreciate it <3  
> If you're enjoying the story, or if there's something about it that's bugging you or otherwise, please let me know in the comments below :)  
> Constructive criticism is always welcome here <3  
> See you in a week, darlings!


	11. 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING!**  
>  This chapter contains mentions of **dissassosiation, panic attacks, light death wishes, and canon character death.**  
>  If any of these subjects makes you hesitant to read this chapter in full, please see the notes at the end for a rough chapter summary.

**_February 16, 1945_ **

 

Steve is staring at the bar counter without really seeing it. In reality, the obstructed view is not strange, seeing as there’s a big chunk of the ceiling collapsed on top of it. There are pieces of glass and shrapnel lodged into the wood, probably from the same explosion that blew the wall and windows in, leaving a big hole in its place. Debris are lying scattered everywhere – tables cracked in half, chairs turned into splinters, shards of broken glass and large blocks of crumbled mortar lying strewn across the floor – but Steve doesn’t see any of that either.

He can't remember how he ended up here. Thinking back, he can't even remember having left the base in the first place. Not that it matters. He doesn't really care.

He feels numb. Deaf and blind to the rest of the world, because what good is the world to him now, anyway?

Time seems to stand still as he stands there, looking without seeing. He doesn’t know for how long. Doesn’t care. His eyes move across the countertop, somehow seeing the entire counter and every single graining of the wood belonging to it all at once. It’s disorientating and it’s making him feel sick, but he can’t stop. The room is pulsating around him, growing and shrinking in time with his breathing – is he even breathing still? Is he even  _ alive?  _ – and the limbs of his body feels as if they are being stretched and compressed along with it.

The soles of his shoes scrape against the rubble when he takes a step forward. It’s like floating through water, through smoke, and he can’t sense the movement of his limbs as he reaches his hand out towards the one stool by the bar that’s still standing. His fingers graze the wooden seat without being able to feel it, and a lump of something thick forms inside his throat, making it hard to swallow.

_ “We  _ are  _ going back home, aren’t we? Once the war’s over?” _

_ “I'm not leaving here without you, Buck. I promise.” _

The sensation of lips shaking reaches his consciousness, his jaw clenching hard at the same time as something wet and burning seeps into his eyes, clouding his vision over.

_ I wasn’t fast enough.  _

It’s the only coherent thought that manages to make it through his head before the horrible reality comes crashing down over him. It’s been pent up for days, lying dormant in a shell of shock and denial, and once released, he finds that it’s threatening to bury him alive.

Suddenly everything is too bright, too loud, and at the same time so suffocatingly dark and quiet that the silence feels as if it’s about to smother his very soul. His fingers close around the nearest thing he can find, which turns out to be the back of a broken chair that’s lying on top of the demolished counter, and he throws it out of the way with a deafening rattle that barely manages to reach his ears. 

Next thing, something that probably used to be a lamp gets hurled through the air, crashing into the pitiful remains of the busted mirror still hanging askew behind the bar. It shatters what’s left of it into a million pieces and sends even more glass showering to the floor just as the side of the bar receives a new, gaping hole when Steve’s boot kicks through the wooden panel. Turning around, he flings what’s left of half a table at the one wall that’s still standing, sending splinters, glass and large chunks of wood flying when it smashes one of the doors leading into the saloon.

He knows that he’s screaming, but he can’t hear his own voice. He’s mute. Silent and useless. His hands, his body – insignificant. Worthless. _A_ _waste_. 

Another, already partially dismembered chair meets its grim end by the heel of his boot, and suddenly Steve can’t breathe.

The air is too thin, his chest too tight. His windpipe feels like it’s being crushed from inside his own throat, his heart racing and shoving against his lungs so hard it brings his breathing off rhythm.

The image of wide, terrified grey eyes flash before his inner vision as a scream that will haunt him for the rest of his life rips through his memories. It echoes inside his head, bounces off the mental walls of his mind until there’s nothing else left. It hurts. Not like a knife to the chest would, or a bullet, but it’s the most horrible pain Steve’s ever felt in his entire life. 

His legs buckle beneath his weight and sends him crashing to his knees amongst the wreckage on the floor. The tears are scorching his eyes, burning streaks of fire down his cheeks as his body struggles to get his breathing back under control. The tears are the only thing that feels real and he latches on to them, forces himself to watch as they stain the ground, dripping large, wet patches onto the fabric of his uniform.

A sob blubbers past his lips, and it’s like a dam breaking. He can’t move, paralyzed where he is, kneeling amongst the ashes, and the agony inside his chest feels like an inky black ocean, threatening to drown him alive. 

Bucky. Oh, God,  _ Bucky…! _

He has nothing left. Not even a grave to visit. Bucky is gone, lost forever to the deadly cold of a river in the alps somewhere, and he’s never coming back. Steve will never see him again. Will never hear his voice, feel the touch of his lips, or have his hands hold him tight. Bucky’s  _ gone _ , and the truth hurts so much Steve can barely stand it.

He is so  _ angry _ . His hands are itching to  _ hurt  _ something; to maim and destroy until either the world breaks first or he does. He wants to curl up inside his own mind and just forget about everything – about the war, about Hydra, about all of it, because Bucky’s dead. He’s  _ dead _ , and as Steve lies there, watching the floorboards between the clawlike sprawl of his own fingers, he finds himself wishing so badly that he had been allowed to go with him…   

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

He hears her before she even enters the room.

The sound of her footsteps stop, just inside the door, and as Steve throws a quick look over his shoulder, Peggy meets his gaze steadily. 

Looking at her hurts, mostly because he can see his own grief in her eyes, even though subdued. She looks worried and concerned where she stands, fidgeting with her gloves, and Steve has to look away again when the pain inside his soul stirs to life once again. 

The tears are still threateningly close, but he keeps them at bay, hiding a snivel behind the back of his hand as he reaches for the open wine bottle on the table. He doesn’t really know what to say, or even if he should, but he knows that she want’s him to say  _ something _ , so he settles with the first topic that pops into his head.

“Dr. Erskine said,” he starts, pouring its content into the lone glass sitting in front of him, “that the serum wouldn’t just affect my muscles, it would affect my cells.”

Peggy comes up to stand next to him while he talks. She doesn’t say anything, and Steve doesn’t look at her when he puts the bottle down and continues, “Create a protective system of regeneration and healing. Which means…” He sighs, looking mournfully at the dark liquid sloshing around inside the glass now in his hand. “I can’t get drunk.”

He turns his head to the side to glance at the pocket of Peggy’s coat, unable to bring himself to look at her face.

“Did you know that?” he asks, almost in challenge.

Peggy sighs as she bends down to pick up one of the still – miraculously so – unharmed chairs from the floor, and Steve snivels again as he wipes at his nose, turning away to stare at the bottle once more.

“Your metabolism burns four times faster than the average person,” she reasons softly, setting the chair next to Steve’s own by the table before seating herself in it. “He thought it could be one of the side effects.”

Steve swallows, his jaw working, but he can’t come up with anything else to say. He keeps staring emptily at the bottle, as if doing so would somehow enable him to will the alcohol into his system. He can’t even drink his guilt away, how pathetic is that? 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Peggy says, as if she’s reading his mind, and Steve clenches his jaw in frustration, because it  _ was  _ his fault. How Peggy could even sit there and suggest otherwise felt dangerously close to insulting.

“Did you read the report?” he retorts, not without edge.

“Yes,” she answers simply.

Steve nods, and then lets out a bitter huff before grating, “Then you know that’s not true.”

“You did everything you could,” Peggy insists calmly, but when Steve doesn’t answer, she leans forward slightly, canting her head to look at him. “Did you believe in your friend?”

The question has Steve’s gaze snapping up to Peggy’s eyes as a sudden blaze of anger promptly coils its way through the cold sorrow in his bones.

_ Friend _ . Is that what Bucky’s been reduced to now that he’s dead? Steve’s  _ friend? _

“Did you respect him?” Peggy continues, pointedly ignoring the glare Steve sends her way, and he realizes with a mute pang of mixed guilt and betrayal that she used the word on purpose. Just to make him look at her. 

He wants to answer, but he doesn’t know how to put his emotions into words. Of course he respected Bucky, how could he not have? He  _ loved  _ him, for God’s sake!

“Then stop blaming yourself,” Peggy scolds him, once again reading him like an open book. When Steve turns away, her voice softens as she continues, “Allow Barnes the dignity of his choice. He damn well must have thought you were worth it.” 

The one sided conversation brings a vicious ache to rise inside Steve’s chest, but he realizes that he can’t argue with what she's saying. Peggy knows, all too well, why Bucky chose to follow Steve into this war. Why fighting alongside Captain America hadn’t been anywhere near as important to Bucky as to protect Steve Rogers, his best friend and lover, even if it killed him. Which it eventually did, as it turned out.

Dammit, Steve should have seen it coming.

The train had been a trap. A trap set up for  _ him _ , not Bucky. Bucky had died, because he had wanted to go where Steve went, and now he’s  _ dead  _ because of that. Because Steve hadn’t had enough  _ sense _ to realize that Bucky would inevitably end up getting caught in the crossfire.

“I’m going after Schmidt,” he announces gravely. His fingers tightens around glass in his hand as he glares at it, his jaw tight. “I’m not gonna stop until all of Hydra is dead or captured.”

He swallows, that treacherous lump of emotions once again nestled tight against his windpipe.

“You won’t be alone,” Peggy says softly, and when Steve forces his head up to look at her again, he can barely see her through the wet burn welling up to cloud his vision. Just like that, it’s all too real once again. Too much and too horrible, and his insides twist and curl with despair when the empathy in Peggy’s eyes strikes him head on.

“I couldn’t save him, Peggy…” he rasps, his voice growing thick. “I tried to, but I couldn’t. I—”

The sentence breaks before he can finish it, and when the tears he thought were gone comes flooding back in,  Peggy’s there in an instant, pulling him close. He curls into her embrace, clutching around her shoulders as he cries and sobs into the fabric of her coat, turning it moist against his cheek. 

Peggy holds him through it, running gentle fingers through his hair and rubbing his back in attempts to soothe the quakes that course through his limbs. She rocks him, like a mother consoling a child, whispering soft words of comfort against his temple until Steve can’t cry anymore. 

Eventually, after what feels like ages, Steve goes still, but when Peggy tries to pull away, he stops her. His fingers tighten against her shoulders, for just a fraction of a second, and Peggy pauses.

“Please…” he whispers.

It’s all he says, and he knows that Peggy understands when he feels her tighten her arms around him once again.  For a few blissful moments, the world appears to melt away around them as Steve’s mind finally goes silent.  

They stay there, quiet in the dark, listening while the soldiers patrolling on the street outside make their final route for the night. In the distance, the sky is already growing lighter, chasing the night away as the sun rises in the horizon.

It will be morning soon. 

Soon, they’ll have to head back to base. File reports, study intel. Make plans... 

And after that, Steve promises himself; after  _ that _ , there’s not going be a single crevice on the whole of the globe where Johann Schmidt’s gonna be able to hide from him. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rough Chapter Summary:
> 
> Steve is back in London, after the succesfull capture of Dr. Zola, and Bucky's fall from the train that carried him.  
> Steve has been wandering, mind numb, through the bombstruck city, somehow ending up finding his way back to the bar he and Bucky visited before, only now it's been bombed and lies in ruins. _(If you've seen Captain America: The First Avenger, you know which bar it is.)_  
>  Standing in the debris, the full reality of Bucky's death finally hits him, causing him to have a panic attack, lashing out and thrashing what's left of the establishment before eventually dropping to his knees amongst the destruction, where he cries and finds himself wishing that he could have died and gone with Bucky instead.
> 
> Later, Peggy finds him where he's sitting at one of the tables, still in the same locale. They talk _(this part is a direct transcript from the actual movie)_ and once they're done, Steve breaks down again, crying and saying that Bucky's death was his fault, and that he had tried to save him, but couldn't.  
>  Peggy comforts him, holding Steve close while he cries, until there are no more tears left. Steve's resolve of taking revenge on Johann Schmidt for Bucky's death grows stronger as the first glow of the dawn appears at the horizon.
> 
>  
> 
> **_Thank you so much for reading guys, and please feel free to leave me a comment on your thoughts <3_ **   
>  **_See you next Monday! (Yes, I'm creating a posting schedule, imagine that, haha)_ **


	12. 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING!**  
>  This chapter deals with Steve's final thoughts as he crashes the Valkyrie into the ocean. There are light mentions of death wish, in a calm, logical manner, but if this makes you uncomfortable to read, I suggest you don't.  
> See the end notes for more details.

 

**_February 27th, 1945_ **

 

“I’ve gotta put her in the water.”

There’s a short pause, and he knows that it’s because Peggy’s trying to take in the consequence of what he just said. When her voice comes back to him through the radio, she sounds scared.

“Please, don’t do this,” she says. Steve can hear the quiet tremble of tears in her voice. “We have time. We can work it out.” 

“Right now, I’m in the middle of nowhere,” he reasons, speaking faster in the hopes that the urgency will make her realize what’s at stake. “If I wait any longer, a lot of people are gonna die.”

There’s a longer pause this time, and while he waits for her to answer, his mind drifts back to the kiss. He tries to recall the feeling of her lips against his. Hard and insistent, as if they were trying to leave a physical imprint on top of his mouth. 

Less than a year ago, the thought of what kissing her would feel like had kept him up at night, staring at the ceiling while struggling to decide if he really should be thinking about such a thing at all. Now, however, he wishes that it had never happened.

He knows that she had meant for the kiss to be for good luck. A promise of meeting again, soon, but… sitting here, with his hands grasping the helm of the plane, he can’t help but feel as if it should really have been a farewell. 

He knows that he can still give her the coordinates to where the ship’s most likely to go down, but he doesn’t. Should he do that, he knows that there’s not gonna be a force in the world strong enough to stop her from being there when they finally find him. Knows that she will have to stand there and watch as they haul his dead, frozen body out of the ocean, and he doesn’t want to put her through that. 

It’s better this way, he reasons. After all, it’s been a long way coming. Ever since Bucky, he’s been feeling so numb. So cold and angry. Death will be a release, in a way. He’ll be free of the sorrow that’s shackled itself to his soul, feeding on his heart. Who knows, maybe he’ll even go to Heaven, in spite of everything he’s done in his life, even though the Bible told him not to. Either way, Heaven or Hell doesn’t matter. This has to be done, and if anyone’s going to do it, then he’s glad that it’s him. 

“Peggy…” he says softly, pours as much sentiment into the words as he can when he continues, “This is  _ my  _ choice.”

This time, the radio is silent.

Steve reaches into his pocket and pulls out his compass, opening it up and setting it onto the dashboard of the plane. He looks at it as he grips the helm tighter, taking in the soft, rounded metal circling Peggy’s black and white photo. Bucky and Peggy. The two loves of his life. 

If he fails, everything they’ve fought for all this time will have been for nothing. Bucky will have died in vain, and Schmidt will win, regardless. Steve set out to do a job, and he intends to see it through to the end. Too dumb not to run away from a fight, as Bucky once said.

Is this how Buck had felt back then, Steve wonders? To make the decision that death is better, as long as it’s for the greater good? If it’s for the people you love?

He looks down at the dashboard, his jaw setting. Raising his gaze he resolutely pushes the helm down, and the plane immediately dives. As it goes, the compass slips a little from its perch on the dashboard, and Steve can’t help the bitter feeling that rises in his throat when he glances at it again.

He wishes that he could tell Bucky how sorry he is that nothing worked out the way they had planned it. That he’s so sorry that Bucky had to die, that he’s sorry for Peggy, who’s still in love with him, even after everything… and that he’s sorry that it’s gonna have to end like this. 

He’s going to die alone. There’s nothing else to it. He’s going to crash the Valkyrie, and whatever’s left of him after that will sink into the sea. He’ll die. Without Bucky. Without Peggy.

Absently, Steve wonders if Bucky would have objected to him and Peggy starting a life together, had this last mission ended differently? He doesn’t know, and really, what’s the point in speculating? Bucky’s dead. He’ll never be able to tell Steve the answer.

Steve looks at the compass, and the pain tugs at his heart when he meets the gaze of Peggy’s picture. The radio is still silent, but he knows that the real Peggy is trying not to cry, and he can’t bring himself to leave her like this. In silence. 

He turns his eyes away from the portrait. He doesn’t want to look at her when he opens his mouth to speak again.

“Peggy?”

There’s a pause.

“I’m here.”

Her voice is soft. As if she’s trying to comfort him, and not the other way around. Steve doesn’t know what to say to a voice like that. In a fractured second, he wishes that she’d gotten angry instead. That she’d yelled and screamed at him until it was all over. This is so much more painful, hearing the love in her voice as it carries across the radio’s wavelengths. 

He’s never been good at talking to girls. 

“I’m gonna need a rain check on that dance.”

The words slip out before he has a chance to think them through. A promise of a lie, a future they both know won’t come to pass.

He hears Peggy drag for breath.

“All right,” she agrees quietly, without really meaning it. “A week, next Saturday, at the Stork Club.”

“You got it,” Steve answers steadily. Earnest and sincere.

It’s a good bye and they both know it.

“Eight o’clock on the dot,” Peggy adds, firmer. “Don’t you dare be late. Understood?”

Steve swallows hard, and it hurts in more ways than one. The glare of the snow is getting closer, and he can see water glisten in between the white patches below. 

“You know, I still don’t know how to dance,” he confides. There’s a long silence, as if Peggy’s waiting for him to say something more.

“I’ll show you how.” She lets out a short laugh which turns into a near sob when she continues, “Just  _ be  _ there.”

“We’ll have the band play something slow,” Steve promises. The white is everywhere now. It fills up his vision, stretching across the plane’s windshield. 

“I’d hate to step on your—”

The radio turns into static just before the plane hits the ground. Everything around him turns white, bright and blinding as it cracks through his skull, leaving his insides burning. He’s thrown out of the seat, pain exploding through every last fibre of his body when he slams into something hard. There’s noises, everywhere, roaring and scraping sounds that drowns out everything, and yet inside Steve’s mind, it’s calm and quiet.

_ End of the line, Buck…  _

Then the world dissolves into nothing but cold, and Steve sinks… 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary notes:
> 
> This chapter in general is a direct transcript of Steve's final moments before going under the ice in _Captain America: The First Avenger_ , and as he says his goodbyes to Peggy, his thoughts also go towards Bucky, and how he truly believes that things will be better this way. If you've seen CA:TFA, then you're not missing out on anything major "action-wize" by skipping this chapter, but there's a lot of reasoning behind why Steve does what he does, and also his thoughts towards Peggy and their relation now that Bucky's gone, what could and could not have been that serves to further explain his behaviour in future chapters. 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _Thank you so much for reading, guys, and as usual, let me know what you think of the story and chapter so far. I'd also love some opinions on Steve's characterization and behaviour so far into the fic; does it seem unrational, unreasonable, unlogical for whatever reason? If so, then don't hesitate to let me know, okay?_  
>  _Until next Monday, lovelies <3_


	13. 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING!**  
>  This chapter deals with Steve's thoughts on having been 'rescued' from the ice, being brought back into society. There are mentions of Steve wishing to have been left in the ocean, bringing up an anger and guilt about still being alive. If this makes you uncomfortable to read, I suggest you don't read the chapter. See the end notes for more details.

**_May 2nd, 2012_ **

 

The sound of fists meeting leather echoes through the gym. It bounces off the walls, hollow and dull before fading into silence.

It’s late. The lights are dimmed and the shadows have grown deep in the corners of the room. Steve is the only one there, and he’s grateful for it.

The bag looks old, having been patched up one too many times to pass any kind of beauty contest, but that doesn’t really matter. It works, and that’s the only thing Steve cares about right now. The chains above it rattle when he slams his knuckles against the chapped leather, over and over, letting the anger inside his chest out in every single throw.

Images of paper files flash through his head. Names and faces belonging to people he used to share a life with. Dugan – deceased. Jones – deceased. Morita, Falsworth, Dernier – all of them, _deceased_.

He truly is all alone now. There’s no one left, save for Peggy…

Just thinking about her hurts. When he found out about exactly how long he’s been under, he had accepted the prospect of her death as an inevitable result of time. He hadn’t even _considered_ the fact that she might still be alive, and the news had come as a shock.

Seventy years ago, he had left her with a promise he never had any intention of keeping. It’s a thought that haunts him, and it makes him feel like a traitor the more he thinks about it. The way he had listened to her beg him not to do what they both knew he was about to do, and the way he had answered. The way he had promised. The way that he, during what he had assumed to be the final moments of his life, had lied to her.

After everything she had done for him, he had _lied_.

But Peggy is alive. Steve has her address, he knows exactly where to find her, but he also knows that he can’t face her. Not yet. It’s too soon, he can’t—

_A week, next Saturday, at the Stork Club._

_You got it._

They said goodbye, he thinks, and he has to grit his teeth against the growl that wants to claw its way up his throat at the thought. It was supposed to have been _goodbye!_

He slams his fist into the bag, feeling the force of impact travel through his body, all the way down to his feet. A real haymaker, as Bucky would have called it.

Bucky was the one who taught Steve how to box back in the old days, when Steve first told Bucky about how he had wanted to join the army. Bucky was a champion – three time welterweight at the YMCA – and after a few days of intense nagging from Steve, Bucky had finally taken him to the local boxing gym to show him the ropes.

He had taught Steve how to fight, sure, but not in order to help him pass enlistment. Steve had been aware of that from the start, but he hadn’t said anything, playing along for the sake of learning.

Bucky had known that Steve would never make it. That Bucky would be assigned to the front and Steve would be left in Brooklyn on his own to fend for himself. He had realized that Steve would need to know how to at least _look_ as if he could deliver a good punch, should he need it. For his own safety’s sake.

Not that the two weeks of intense practice at Goldie’s had helped much. Steve had still been too small, too frail and light to stand up to the competition out there on the streets. He had the will, absolutely, but his opponents had been larger, stronger, _bigger_ guys, all of them eager to prove their own masculinity by going one on one with the smallest guy in town.

The bitter memory of a split lip, followed by the taste of blood in his mouth makes an appearance inside his mind, and with it, the memory of Bucky’s hands, cupping his jaw. A damp towel, a thumb against his cheek. Lips covering his.

It’s a painful memory, and it cuts into Steve like a jagged blade.

_Bucky…_

Bucky’s gone – now more than ever – and Steve has nothing left. He knows that it’s something he cannot change, no matter how much he wants to, and perhaps that’s why it hurts so badly.

All he has is the horrible sensation of being _stuck_ . Trapped in a time where he doesn’t belong. A world where everything is new and strange, and nobody seems to care about the fact that he never _wanted_ to be part of it.

He is angry. He feels betrayed. Robbed of his own free will. The decision to die had been _his_ , and yet fate had intervened and stolen that away, refusing to let it end on his terms.

He is tired. So exhausted. So _sick_ of the endless stream of information he now has to search out and learn. Learning is not the problem, however. It never has been since the serum, given the effects it’s had on his brain, but it’s the fact that it never _ends_. It just goes on and on, ceaselessly; words, places, names. Memorize one, and a hundred immediately swoop in to take its place. They call this time the age of information, yes, but what kind of information does this era deal with, really? How much of it is actually completely irrelevant, and why should he care to figure it out?

His head feels cluttered. There are too many emotions, too many memories from the past rising to the surface, mingling with the now. Battlefields from the past, with bodies since long dead and buried now lying fresh and bleeding before his inner vision yet again.

Fists against leather, _thump, thump, thump_. Over and over, mimicking the pounding of his own heart. Voices, clear as bells inside his head that leave him with a ringing in his ears that never seems to fade.

_There’s not enough time_

_I’ve gotta put her in the water._

Light. Blue and alien, washing over everything. _Thump, thump, thump._ The scream of a dying man being disintegrated right in front of him.

_You won’t be alone._

Bucky’s compass. Peggy’s photo.

_Thump, thump._

Ice. Ice everywhere, like a balm on his skin. Death following in its wake like a gentle touch to his soul, allowing him rest. _Thump, thump, thump._ And then, there’s another kind of light. Bright, horrible light, followed by the sharp sound of voices, dragging him up from within the safety of the darkness.

Why did they have to _do_ that? _Thump._ Why couldn’t they just have left him where he _was?!_

_Thump, thump._

_This guy’s still alive!_

Thump!

The chain above his head breaks when the force of his punch sends the boxing bag flying across the room to hit the floor with a deafening bang, scattering sand all over the floorboards.

Steve glares at it as he lowers his fists down. His chest is heaving, and there’s sweat dripping along the sides of his face to trickle down his neck. He’s warm, but he can still feel the ice crackling in his bones. His insides feel cold, as if the rage has covered them in frost, and there’s nothing in the world that’s capable of thawing the grim winter that’s settled inside his soul.

Bucky had always known how to do that. How to take the rage away with a simple brush of his hand against Steve’s skin. Had always been able to melt the ice with nothing but the warm glow of his smile.

But Bucky is not around anymore, and he’s not ever coming back. Steve has been left to survive the cold on his own, whether he wants to or not.

He turns away, sending the busted bag a final, grim look before bending down to pick up a new one of the remaining bags lying neatly lined up on the floor behind him.

Hooking the new bag up, he thinks, not for the first time, how much easier life would have been if America was still at war. If he could have been allowed to leave, to fight once again. To find an enemy he could take this rage out on without having to care about his own well being. His entire body is literally crawling with restlessness, like bugs beneath his skin.

He feels like a prisoner. Even though he’s technically allowed to go where he pleases, he’s smart enough to realize that doing so would bring consequences.

The people at S.H.I.E.L.D’s headquarters have been very accommodating to him so far. Apparently, Steve’s some sort of celebrity nowadays, and people are practically falling over themselves to make sure he has everything he needs.

Steve hates it. The looks, the whispers, the constant groveling as soon as he enters a room… The attention is driving him crazy, and he just wishes that he could go. Go do something, _anything_ , as long as he could do it with people who wouldn’t tiptoe around him as if he was made of glass!

He lands his first punch on the new bag with another satisfying _thump_ , preparing to set up a pace again, but he only manages five or so throws before he’s interrupted by a voice coming from the door.

“Trouble sleeping?”

He stops, turning towards the new arrival at the door, already knowing who it is.

Colonel Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D — a man Steve still haven’t formed a solid opinion about. He’s walking towards him, hands on his back, eyepatch in place, and Steve knows without being told that this isn’t some courtesy visit.

Fury’s vigilant, this time being no exception. He’s always calm on the outside, never appearing on edge, but Steve’s noticed that he’s never fully relaxed either. He’s been watching Steve like all the others back at headquarters, only not to simply look, but _observe_. Analyze. Steve’s not sure what to think about the man, but there’s something about the way he talks to him that reminds Steve about Colonel Phillips, and that’s about the best reason Steve can think of to trust him. At least for the time being.

“You’re here with a mission, sir?” Steve looks away, turning his gaze down as he unwraps the protective gauze from around his hands and wrists.

“I am,” Fury responds matter-of-factly as he stops a few feet away from where Steve’s standing. Keeping his distance. A wise decision.

“Trying to get me back in the world?” Steve says, laying the words in the other man’s mouth without looking up from his hands. He notes with a sort of detached fascination that the fabric over his knuckles has been worn down to the last layer, leaving holes in the tattered cloth as he takes it off. He’s gonna have to wrap himself up tighter next time.

He can feel Fury’s eyes on him, looking him up and down. As if evaluating if Steve’s ready to hear the thing he has come here to say. Or if he should be willing to risk it, even if he’s not.  

“Trying to save it,” he says eventually, answering Steve, even though Steve technically hadn’t asked a question.

The tone of his voice makes Steve raise his head as he turns to meet the look out of Fury’s one eye. This is about something big, he realizes that with a single glance. Dangerous… Lethal even. Something the normal military forces can’t handle, and Steve decides, then and there, that he doesn’t need to know more than that. Whatever it is, he’ll do it.

He’ll do it, because what else is there for him to do?

Puzzling the charred, scattered pieces of his old life back together is simply gonna have to wait, and who knows... perhaps  _this_ mission will be enough to actually get him killed properly? 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter summary:  
> The chapter is a combined transcript from the end credits scene of Captain America: TFA, and the scene in Avengers, where Fury comes to recruit Steve to find Loki and the Tesseract. The chapter in itself fokuses on Steve's thoughts on still being alive, his flashbacks from the war, and a bitterness as to not having died on the Valkyrie. He doesn't like the way people look at him here, and he feels a sorrow and alienation towards everything this new world represents. He knows that Peggy is still alive, but he can't bear the guilt of seeing her again so 'soon', after having lied to her during his last moments before the crash.  
> When Fury offers him the mission, Steve accepts it as a way to escape his current situation, to avoid restlesness, and, with implied hope that perhaps the mission might even be dangerous enough to get him killed properly this time.
> 
>  
> 
> _Thank you so much for reading <3 You guys are the best!_
> 
> _See you in a week!_


	14. 14

**_May 10th, 2014_ **

 

Steve braces himself, fingers curling tight around the flowers in his hand. They’re Chrysanthemums. Violet ones. He bought them on the way back from the Smithsonian, on a whim more than anything, but suddenly he’s not sure if doing so had been such a great idea… 

Maybe he should come back another time, he reasons with himself. When he’s better prepared and— Well, just  _ better _ .

It’s a tempting thought, but he quickly pushes it aside. If he starts thinking like that, he’ll never come back again, and he knows it. He doesn’t have that kind of luxury. He gave that up the moment he decided to follow the Valkyrie down under the ice.

Taking a deep breath to strengthen his resolve, he straightens up. Then he places one hand on the handle of the door before him, and steps inside. 

The room is dark, and the curtains have been pulled in front of the windows to keep the sun out. It’s been a long time since Steve last saw sunlight in this room, however, so he’s not surprised…   

She is asleep when he walks in, and he stops, for a moment hesitating as for what to do next.

Her hair is grey, almost white as it flows over her pillow, but still neat as ever. Still classy. He can see the familiar lines of her face beneath the newer, deeper ones that have emerged on her skin during the years he’s been gone. As always, the sight makes him feel guilty, as if he’s the one responsible for her aging in the first place.

Visiting her today had been a spur of the moment decision. Watching that movie back at the museum, hearing her talk and seeing her face… it had made him want to actually  _ see  _ her, even for a short while. He knows that there’s just a slim chance of that happening, but today he feels just on the right side of reckless to take it. Today, he just wants to feel like he  _ belongs  _ somewhere again. 

There is also the part about seeing her that feels like a self inflicted punishment, but he refuses to acknowledge that. Yes, he feels guilty when he visits her. No, he’s not going to stop. He can’t stop. He’s not allowed.

He watches as the covers over her chest rises and falls with her breathing, and suddenly the ever present weight of the compass in his pocket feels heavy like a brick. Like so many times before, he’s overcome by the horrible urge to walk back out the same way he had come. Anything, as long as he won’t have to face her. To be forced to see what time had done with the only remaining person he had ever loved.

He is still standing there awkwardly in the middle of the room, fighting the impulse to run away – to  _ flee – _ when she wakes. 

She doesn’t stir. In fact, she doesn’t even move at all. She just opens her eyes in silence, and looks at him from across the room, and Steve holds his breath so hard his lungs ache inside his chest.

Then she smiles at him, and he can breathe again.

She remembers him today.

“At ease, soldier,” she says softly. Teasing.

“Hello, Peggy,” Steve says, smiling back. He holds up the bouquet. “I brought you flowers.”

She lets out a gentle, “Oh,” looking tenderly at the flowers in his hand. “They’re lovely, Steve. Thank you.”

Steve bows his head as he patiently waits for her to tell him where the vases are, even though he already knows. He picks one out from under the cupboard next to the wardrobe, and sets the flowers on the bureau opposite of the bed, where she can see them.

Then he pulls out a chair and sits down next to her bed, and they talk.

It starts the same way as it usually does. He asks her how she’s been, and she tells him not to worry about her. She just wants to hear about him, wants him to tell her what he’s been up to lately. She asks about his apartment, if he likes it. He tells her that he does, very much, just like he always do.

In reality, he doesn’t know what there is to say about it. It’s just an apartment. It is only there to make sure he doesn’t have to live on the street. A shelter, a roof over his head. It is a dead place, even when he’s there. 

It is a nice apartment, of course, but it holds none of the color and warmth that Bucky’s apartment back in Brooklyn did. Or his own, for that matter. Perhaps it had been Bucky who was the light brighting it all up, when he thinks about it. It would make sense. Like the rest of his life, the place he’s supposed to call home feels dull and grey without anyone to share it with. And he only ever wanted to share it with one person.

He pulls himself out of his own thoughts when Peggy starts talking again, straightening up in his seat. She tells him stories. Many of them he has heard, but the names are new almost every time. Today, she tells him how Howard Stark came by the other day to play chess with her, and Steve nods, saying how awfully nice that was of him.

“Have you seen him lately?” she asks. “Oh, he would be so happy to see you. I’ll tell him to give you a call the next time he comes by.”

Steve tells her thank you, even though the words get caught halfway out of his throat. Howard, like so many other of Steve’s old friends, has been dead since 1991. Steve read the file with Stark’s death date printed upon it himself, but he’s not going to tell Peggy that. Deep down, somewhere, he thinks that Peggy knows already. She’s just not aware of it right now.

“He has a son, you know,” Peggy goes on. “Handsome young boy named Anthony. Just as flamboyant and dramatic as his father,” she laughs, “but what else would you expect? I’ve only met him a few times, when he was younger, but I’m sure you’d like him, Steve.”

Steve refrains from telling her that he actually  _ has  _ met Tony Stark, and before he has time to come up with an answer that might be more suitable as a response, she moves on to another topic.

“He and my Charles used to play together,” she reminisces. “Always ended up in trouble, even at such a young age.” Peggy sighs, shaking her head. “My son made sure that I was never bored, that’s for certain. I still believe his antics gave me my first gray hair.”

She laughs, and Steve laughs with her. He likes it when she laughs. It’s calming, and at the very least a reminder of her old, lucid self.

“You should be proud of yourself, Peggy,” he says, glancing over to the many photos sitting on top of the nearest bedside table, while stubbornly ignoring the plethora of prescription bottles glaring at him from the other. Peggy follows his gaze, giving a low, contemplating hum.

“I have lived a life,” she agrees gently, before turning back to look at him. “My only regret is that you didn’t get to live yours.”

They are words that has Steve looking down at his lap, picking at his nails in silence.  _ She  _ has regrets. For  _ him. _ That’s not right, that’s not the way it’s supposed to be. He had made a choice, not only because it was something that he wanted, but also because it  _ needed  _ to be done. Isn’t that what a soldier does?

An image flashes before his eyes then. The memory of a hangar, and three impossibly large ships, ready to rise into the air at a given signal. The Valkyrie had been a speck in comparison to those giants, and doesn’t that summarize the situation beautifully? The stark contrast between what war had been back then and what it is considered to be today.

Before, it had all been about doing what was needed… Steve knows, he was there to take part in that mentality first hand, but now, all it seems to be about is doing what’s considered the  _ easiest _ . Supposedly avoiding bloodshed by threatening the innocent of your own country is not the ways of war that Steve remembers. 

Fury had called him naive. Maybe not out loud, but Steve had heard it nonetheless. Perhaps that is true, he’s not sure, but even so, it makes his skin crawl just thinking about being part of such a strategy.

“What is it?” Peggy asks, and Steve looks up. He meets her gaze, and for once, her eyes look perfectly clear. Still with that peculiar ability to read him like a book, even after all this time. He should have figured.

He swallows as he searches for the right words to use, and when he speaks he can feel his heart sink even as he does it.

“For as long as I can remember I just wanted to do what was right,” he starts. “Guess I’m not quite sure what that is anymore…” He shifts his gaze and stares out into the open air next to the bed. This time, the words come almost easier when he speaks again. “And I thought I could… throw myself back in. Follow orders. Serve…” He manages a wistful little smile, looking back at Peggy. “It’s just not the same.” 

At that, she actually laughs at him.

“You were always so dramatic,” she says, still laughing. Then she pauses and gives him a long, contemplative look, as if trying to decide if she should scold him or comfort him. “Look,” she says after a while, “You saved the  _ world _ .”

Steve’s lip twitches. He can’t tell if it’s because he wants to smile at the wonder in her voice, or the pang of resignation he feels go off inside his own chest as she says it. He manages to turn the twitch into a hesitant smile, and Peggy nods.

“We rather… mucked it up,” she confesses, rolling her eyes to the ceiling.

“ _ You _ didn’t,” Steve says dismissively.  _ She  _ didn’t, he knows that. If anything, she, and the people like her, are one of the few reasons the world’s not in complete turmoil at the moment. “Knowing that you helped found S.H.I.E.L.D. is half the reason I stay,” he admits. 

It’s true. Had he not read it in her file three years ago, Steve would have been long gone from S.H.I.E.L.D. by now. Once again, the hangar from this morning makes an appearance inside his mind. Is that what Peggy would have wanted, he wonders? Is that the legacy she would have wanted to leave behind?

He feels Peggy reach out and take his hand from her spot on the bed, holding it tight. Her hands are still strong, in spite of everything. After all, they were always strong. Just like her. 

“The world has changed,” she says wisely, “and none of us can go back. All we can do is our best, and sometimes, the best that we can do is to s-start over—”

She starts to cough, and the words get caught on the way out as the fit carves into her lungs, shaking the frail limbs of her body. Steve hurries up and quickly makes his way to the pitcher sitting on the table next to the window where he pours her a glass of water. 

She is still struggling with the few final coughs when he sits back down next to her, and he offers her the glass with an encouraging smile and a whisper of her name. She looks at the glass, briefly, as if she doesn’t really know what to do with it, and then her gaze moves back up to Steve’s face.

He sees it happen. One moment it’s there, and the next it’s not. She forgets, relapsing, and Steve’s heart breaks, for a millionth time.

“Steve…?” Her voice is weak. Almost trembling.

“Yeah?” he says, clinging to the fraying hope that maybe, this time, he’s wrong.

“Y—you’re alive.”

Steeling himself is hard. It always is, but somehow he manages it. He puts on a smile; a kind, reassuring mask, but on the inside he’s screaming. 

“Yeah, Peggy—” He can’t bring himself to end the sentence when he sees the tears well up in her eyes.

“It’s been  _ so long _ ,” she says, her voice breaking. The words pierce into his heart, leaving it with yet another crack in its defences when she repeats them, “So long…” 

“Well, I couldn’t leave my best girl,” Steve whispers softly. He forces the smile to become wider. “Not when she owes me a dance.”

She brings a hand up to her mouth as she chokes back something in between a laugh and a sob, looking at him as if he’s the most wondrous thing she’s ever seen. 

He doesn’t ask her not to cry, knows that there’s no use, because she will anyway. When she reaches out to hug him, he wraps her in his arms, and much like she once did for him, he lets her cry. She clings to him, holds him as if she’s scared that he’s going to disappear like smoke beneath her fingers unless she keeps him there. For a brief moment, he can’t help but think that she’s right.

It always makes him regret, like so many times, not having come sooner. It had taken him almost a year to muster up the courage it took to even go see her the first time around. She had taken one look at him and started crying, so hard that he had been forced to step outside while the staff calmed her down. 

It wasn’t the reaction he had expected; not from Peggy. Strong, professional, collected Peggy. 

The second time, she couldn’t even remember his face at all. Not until they had already spoken for a good five minutes, and then she had cried again. The third time he came around, she appeared to remember everything, but Steve had still expected the tears to come until the very moment he had exited the building. 

It makes him wonder if things would have been different, had he not been such a coward? If his presence could have been able to halt the disease inside her brain to the point where she could at least have been allowed to permanently remember that he was alive? If it could have spared her this pain, of rediscovering him sitting by the side of her bed, over and over again.

He has thought so many times that perhaps it would be better if he simply stopped coming to see her. Then he remembers the way her hands clasp around his whenever it’s time for him to go, and he decides not to.

He knows what it must feel like for her, to be the only one left. What it feels like to realize that everyone you’ve ever cared about has gone. For her to see him, even as if where it the first time in seventy years, might be the only reason she’s still breathing. That, on some distant plane of her consciousness, the old Peggy is still there, waiting for him to come back just one more time.  

In a way, he realizes, her condition renders them both lonely. She can’t remember him and he can’t form a connection with her that lasts beyond that of three visits. She always forgets and he always remembers. It’s not fair, and had it only been about him, he could have taken the pain that comes along with that truth, but when it comes to her… Seeing her like this always rips his heart out, and yet, he can’t stop.

He waits for Peggy to ask him how he survived, where he’s been. Waits for her to ask if he knows about the others, like she always asks, but she doesn’t. What she says instead makes his insides freeze, and he has to fight the initial impulse not to actually push her off and away from him as the words leave her mouth.

“Is Barnes with you?”

When Steve doesn’t answer, she sits back, looking up at him expectantly. Her eyes are clear, open and honest, but there’s something missing in them. As if a part of her isn’t quite awake. Steve swallows, struggling to push the words across the hollow pit that’s opened up inside his chest.

“He couldn’t make it,” is what he hears himself say, and he feels a stab of pain that reaches into his very soul when the expectant look on Peggy’s face falters, being replaced by disappointment.

“Oh,” she says, shoulders dropping. “That’s a shame. I was looking forward to see him again.”

Steve doesn’t know what to say. This is new, all of it, and he has no idea what to say or do next. Suddenly, the conversation feels like a minefield, and he’s just been dropped slap dab in its centre.

“He wanted to come,” he manages. His voice sounds like it's coming from somewhere far away, as if he’s speaking from the other end of a tunnel, “but… something came up.”

“Stuck with work, is he?” Peggy asks sympathetically. “I know how it is; those military reports don’t write themselves.”

“No, they don’t…” Steve agrees quietly.

“You should bring him along next time,” she says, lighting up. “It would be so nice to talk to him again. I assume that the two of you are still together?”

That’s the point where Steve chokes. He can’t answer that question, he just can’t. It hurts, in more ways than he can describe. The question is a taunt, an illusion, and he knows that she doesn’t mean it, that Peggy isn’t aware of what she’s saying, but it doesn’t help.

He swallows, feeling the choppy movements of his body when he slowly gets up and out of the chair he’s been sitting in.

“I need to go now, Peggy,” he says quietly, mechanically. “I’ll be back again tomorrow, okay?”

“Do you really need to go?” she asks, clutching for his hand, and once again it takes everything he has not to shake it off of him on pure reflex.

“I’m afraid so,” he answers, giving her fingers a quick, affectionate squeeze out of sheer reflex before stepping away from the bed. “It was nice seeing you again.”  

“You too, Steve,” she says. She sounds calm, drowsy. Steve suspects that she’ll fall asleep the moment he’s out the door.

He’s already got his hand on the handle when her voice comes floating across the room again, low and almost inaudible.

“Give Barnes my best, will you, Steve?”

He pauses, shoulders squaring. He wants to turn around, wants to give her another one of his fake, gentle smiles, but he can’t.

“I will,” he murmurs. Then he’s out, closing the door with a mute bang behind himself before hurrying down the hallway outside, head down, struggling to breathe.

The compass in his pocket feels like it weighs a ton.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, darlings, I hope you enjoyed it. If so, let me know <3
> 
> See you all next Monday! :D


	15. 15

_**May 14th, 2014** _

 

_Who the hell is Bucky?_

The sentence rings through Steve’s head as he paces back and forth in the confined space of the room he’s in. The bunker is big, but it’s obvious that it was originally designed for more than the handful of occupants that are living in it now. Fury has managed to gather a limited number of people he claims they can trust, but it’s clear that their capacity is not nearly enough to pose a threat to the forces S.H.I.E.L.D – now led by Hydra – currently possesses.

It had taken Steve less than two minutes to find a room where he could be alone. Most of the living quarters are left empty, seeing as there are not enough people to inhabit them; a side effect that Steve can’t help but feel grateful for at the moment.

He needs time to _think_. Even though he’s immensely grateful for the fact that Fury is still alive and that they’ve finally got some people to help them, he still can’t find it in his heart to feel any sort of joy about it. All the positive emotions he knows that he should be having – relief, gratefulness, hope – they’re all being drowned out by something else. Smothered by five, heartbreakingly cruel words that keep repeating themselves inside his brain, whispering to him even as he tries his best to shut them out.

_Who the hell is Bucky?_

Bucky. _His_ Bucky.

There is a painful throb inside his chest as the thought settles inside him, his heart aching with emotions he never thought he’d ever feel again.

Bucky is _alive_. After all this time…

It is an amazing thought. Amazing and horrifying in so many ways. Bucky is _alive…!_

Which means, Steve realizes, his insides going numb, that Bucky survived the fall from the train back in 1945. He survived… and Steve left him for dead.

He had _left him_ . Alone and injured in the freezing mountains. Left him to _die_.

He is aware that he shouldn’t be thinking about it, not like that, but his imagination won’t allow him the peace. His thoughts keep drifting back to the mental image of Bucky, lying bruised and bloodied in the snow. Broken bones, collapsed lungs, internal bleedings… Jesus, the pain alone…  

It makes Steve feel sick to his stomach, the nausea pressing against the back of his throat. No man should have been able to live through such a fall. Not any _normal_ man, at least.

_Zola._

What exactly had that deranged maniac done to Bucky back in Azzano?

Of course, now, Steve knows. Zola had separated Bucky from the other prisoners, taken him into an isolated room… Strapped him to a table. Thinking back, Steve feels like punching himself in the face for not having connected the dots sooner.

Bucky was isolated, because he was experimented on. Strapped to a table because they had injected him with God knows what and needed to keep him under observation. How had he not _seen_ it?

Steve had rescued Bucky from the claws of Hydra, only to unknowingly send him right back into the lion’s den. Damnit, he should have realized. He should have _known!_

He buries his face in his hands with a groan, feeling them tremble as he drags his fingers up through his hair while he thinks back on the confrontation on the bridge. Suddenly, so many things slowly begin to make sense.

Like the way the Winter Soldier had more or less stolen Steve’s own shield from him. Used it _against_ him.

How many times hadn’t Bucky watched Steve fight with that thing? How many hours had they not discussed the many moves and strategies that could be implemented with the use of Captain America’s trademark weapon? Bucky knew all the flaws, all the openings in Steve’s defences… and he had efficiently used every single one against him today.

Or rather, the Winter Soldier had.

_Who the hell is Bucky?_

Bucky doesn’t even remember his own name, that’s how thorough Hydra’s brainwashing has been. The name Bucky seems to mean nothing to him, and he had looked at Steve back there as if Steve was a total stranger instead of Bucky’s best friend and long lost lover.

Jesus Christ, what had they _done_ to him?

Just like that, Steve has to sit down. He can’t keep himself upright, and he drops down onto one of the bunk beds with a heavy sigh, feeling his chest draw tight around his lungs.

Bucky… Jesus, _Bucky_.

How is it possible? How can Bucky’s hands – Bucky’s soft, warm and gentle hands – have done the things the Winter Soldier’s had? To kill without mercy… How can they _possibly_ be the same person?

The memories of black and white photos projected on the screen of Zola’s bunker flashes through his head. Images of a man aiming a sniper rifle at his target. A man with a metal arm, adorned by a red star.

An assassin.

Bucky is a master shot – back in the day, his aim had saved Steve’s and many other’s hide more times than Steve can probably count. _Of course_ they made him an assassin.

An assassin for _Hydra…_

Bucky really tried to kill him back there on the bridge, Steve has come to realize that much by now. There had been no hesitation, no pause. The Winter Soldier had aimed a loaded gun at Steve’s head and pulled the trigger, expecting him to drop dead right there on the street.

He recalls the way those eyes had looked at him during the fight. So cold and dark. So empty. Nothing at all like the eyes Steve remembers. Those warm, velvet grey eyes, so bright they could make the snow itself seem dirty in comparison. The Winter Soldier’s eyes are dead, _soulless_ , and the thought alone sends a vicious chill curling through Steve’s body.

The sudden knock on the door nearly sends him flying off the bed, but he relaxes when he hears Natasha’s voice come calling to him from the other side.

“Steve?”

“I’m here,” Steve calls back, standing up.

“Can I come in?”

He is not going ask how she found him amongst all the empty rooms, and he has a fair suspicion that she won’t answer him even if he does . So he settles with taking a deep, controlling breath, before straightening up and turning around to face the door.

“Yeah, go ahead,” he says.

Steve is glad to see that Natasha’s gotten her shoulder properly wrapped and treated, and as she steps into the room, he notices that her cheeks have already begun to show a little more color than they had before. Steve’s no doctor, but he’s seen people get shot enough times in the past to know that all it would have taken was another inch to the right, and Nat would have been gone. Killed by the Winter Soldier, just like Fury was supposed to have been killed…

He looks away, aiming his gaze towards his feet while Nat closes the door quietly behind her.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“Not really,” Steve answers truthfully. He knows better than to attempt a lie, and Natasha nods, as if she had been expecting such an answer.

“How’s your shoulder?” Steve counters.

“It’ll heal,” Nat says simply. She doesn’t sound very keen to change the subject away from him, and Steve sighs, looking away again.

“Natasha—”

“So, Bucky Barnes,” she says before he can continue. “You two were pretty close, huh?”

It’s more of a statement than it is a question.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Yeah, we were close…”

“ _How_ close?”

It only takes Steve one look at her face to know that it’s not a courtesy question, and he sighs again as he closes his eyes.

He has never talked about Bucky with anyone. Not even Peggy. He is not entirely sure if he can. Even after all this time, it still hurts, and after today – after what he’s come to learn in the past twenty four hours –  it’s harder than ever.

“Bucky and I—” he starts, but he finds that he has to stop and clear his throat before he can continue. “Bucky and I have known each other since we were kids. We grew up together, went to art school together, and during the war we ended up fighting together as well. He was my— He was my best friend.”

“Back in the van,” Nat prompts. “You said Zola experimented on him?” She’s still professional, her face still blank, but her voice has lost a little of its edge. It's gone from blunt to cunning, and Steve grows cautious.

“Bucky and his squadron were captured by Hydra and taken to one of their bases in Italy,” he explains shortly. “Bucky was separated from the others and taken to another part of the facility. It seems they wanted him for more than cannon fodder.”

Natasha’s brow creases as she narrows her eyes at him.

“This was Azzano, right?” she asks. “I've read about your little suicide mission, but I've never found anything that says Barnes was separated from the remaining prisoners.”

“That's because we never told anyone,” Steve counters grimly.

“Why not?”

“I guess we forgot.”

At that, Natasha’s gaze hardens, but Steve meets it head on. He can tell that she knows he’s not telling her the whole truth, but he doesn’t care. If she wants to know more, then she’s fully capable of asking for herself. There’s plenty of documents filed on the subject, and Steve’s pretty sure that Nat’s got her own personal Captain America file to consult, should she want to.

It’s ironic, really. All these reports and newspaper clippings about Captain America, and yet Bucky’s never treated as anything beyond that of a simple footnote in any of them. The most important person in Steve’s life, and there’s barely any historical mention of him at all.

As for why they never told anyone about Bucky's special treatment at Azzano, Steve isn’t completely lying. Bucky had claimed that he couldn't really remember anything up until the moment they ran into Schmidt on the walkway, so he wouldn’t have been able to tell, should he even have wanted to. Apparently, Hydra’s people had pumped him so full of drugs in order to even get him into the lab, that he had been more or less knocked out throughout the whole thing.

As for Steve, once they got out and back to home base, he had been too relieved to have Bucky back, alive and in one piece, to care. A foolish mistake, as it turns out...

Natasha doesn’t press the issue, however, and Steve slowly drops his shoulders, relaxing somewhat. They stand there for a moment, and it takes almost a full minute before Natasha opens her mouth to speak again.

“So,” she asks slowly. “What’s your plan?”

Steve looks down at his feet, and then he walks over to sink down onto the bed once more, weaving his fingers together in between his knees.

“I wanna go after him,” he starts, but when he sees Natasha’s disapproving frown, he continues, “but I can’t.”

Natasha’s frown deepens, but she remains silent, and Steve shakes his head.

“If we don’t stop Pierce from launching Project Insight, billions of people will die. Not just here in America, but all over the world, and I can’t let that happen. Not even for Bucky’s sake. Besides…” he adds, “I have a feeling that wherever Pierce is holding up, the Winter Soldier won’t be far behind.”

“You think he’ll come to the triskelion?”

“He has a mission,” Steve says simply. “He didn’t carry it out on the bridge, so he’s bound to try again.”

“And if he does?” Nat insists.

“Then I’ll fight him,” Steve says firmly. “And this time, I won’t let him get away. This time, I’ll bring him home. Find out what the hell Hydra did to him…”

He sighs and takes a final deep breath as he stands up once more. Natasha looks at him, evaluating the expression on his face, and eventually she ends up shaking her head slowly.

“I’m not sure if that plan is such a brilliant idea,” she says pointedly, before continuing with resignation, “but if you really think you can do it… then I’ll do my best to help you.”

It’s a nonchalant offer, almost sounding careless, but Steve can tell by the look on her face that she means it, and he can feel his chest swell with gratitude as he meets her gaze from across the room.

“Thank you,” he says simply, but Nat just snorts as she raises a warning finger at him.

“If he comes after me like he did today, I’ll kill him,” she says grimly. “Today, I tried to outrun him, and I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

Steve nods. He doesn’t blame her, he really doesn’t, but at the same time, he sends a prayer to the heavens for Bucky to stay as far away from Natasha as he possibly can, come tomorrow. “I understand,” he says, just to clarify.

Natasha gives him a final, evaluating look. Pleased, she then turns and starts moving towards the door. She already has her hand on the handle when she stops and turns around, seeking out his eyes from where she stands.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Just…” She hesitates, searching for the words. “Just make sure to be prepared.”

Then she leaves, and Steve watches the door close behind her, knowing fully well what kind of preparation she is referring to.

He has already realized that Bucky won’t come willingly, if at all. There’s going to be a fight; one that Steve in spite of his previous statement isn’t sure that he’ll win. And even if he does, Hydra agents have a history of committing suicide before facing the prospect of being captured.

Steve doesn’t know if the Winter Soldier – whom surely doesn’t reach beyond the most need-to-know security basis – has a false tooth with a cyanide capsule located somewhere in his mouth, but he doesn’t trust Hydra’s anti-snitch policy enough not to consider the risk.

He can’t afford to lose him again. Not if Bucky really is still in there somewhere.

Once again, the image of cold, grey eyes flashes through his memory, and his heart sinks as the words are repeated inside his head for the millionth time:  

_Who the hell is Bucky?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it.  
> I'll see you all next Monday. I sense that a reunion is close at hand... ;) 
> 
> Take good care of yourselves, okay? <3


	16. 16

_**May 16th, 2014** _

 

_You know me…_

_No I_ don’t!

_Your name is James Buchanan Barnes._

Shut up!

_You’re my friend._

_You’re my mission. You’re! My! Mission!_

_Then finish it…_

 

The glass explodes into a million, glistening pieces underneath Steve’s body, and as he drops, Bucky’s eyes seem to hold onto his as Steve plummets out of the sky.

 _Bucky’s_ eyes.

He hits the water. The cold of it rushes into the space between his uniform and his body, and oh, what a familiar feeling it is. He sinks, just like he sank back then, with the frigid water pressing in against his skin like a veil of ice.  

Light glistens as the daylight breaks through the surface above his head, jumping and skipping over his body as if it’s playing catch with itself. The sun is nothing but a bright, shimmering orb somewhere in the far distance. It’s a beautiful sight.

One part of him wants to return to the surface, and he can feel his brain scream for oxygen, but the other side just wants to rest. It wants to keep sinking, until his body hits the bottom of this dark, silent river.

He could watch the sunlight from there; watch it skip and bounce as it shines through the barrier above, watch it dance until his eyes can’t see anymore. It’s a tempting thought, but even though he wants to this time, Steve knows that he’s too tired to fight it.

The muted bang of another explosion reaches his ears through the water, and it’s soon followed by the sound of debris hitting the surface above him.

At least Steve thinks it’s debris, until he sees something gleaming reach for him through the murk of the water. Steel fingers clutch around the collar of his uniform, pulling him up.

_Bucky…_

The sun feels blinding on the other side of his closed eyelids as he’s dropped onto his back, and he feels water bubble up his throat, trickling down the side of his face from the corner of his mouth.

He can hear laboured breathing from somewhere above his head, and shortly after, footsteps.

The part of his brain that is still trying to wake up informs him that the footsteps are moving away from where he’s lying, and the thought sends panic spiraling through him.

“Bucky…?” He barely gets the name out. It passes his lips in a breath; not even loud enough to be called a whisper. The gunshot wound in his side sends sharp flashes of white hot pain through his body as he makes an all too hurried attempt to move, forcing him to remain where he is. The footsteps are far away now, and Steve drags for breath, ignoring the pain that comes from what surely will turn out to be at least three broken ribs as he tries again. _“Bucky.”_

The footsteps stop.

Steve’s body sags, the air dragging through his throat like sandpaper. He lets his head drop to the side and forces his eyes to open, and his heart gives a violent thud inside his chest when he spots him.

Bucky is standing about sixteen feet away, dripping wet. When he meets Steve’s eyes, he takes a few steps towards him and then stops, as if he’s too scared to move any closer.

In the distance, Steve can hear the rumble of a chopper approaching, but Bucky doesn’t even look up. He keeps his gaze fixed on Steve, looking at him with a mix of angry defiance and confusion. His chest continues to rise and fall, as if he’s bracing himself for something, the muscles of his jaw clenching, and Steve waits.

The chopper is drawing closer, and Steve finds himself wondering if Nat and the others are on it. If they made it out okay, like they had planned. He turns his head, fighting against the pain that spikes up his torso as he does so, and squints against the sky in search for the helicopter.

“They’ll come for me.”

The air leaves Steve’s lungs in a single, dazed exhale when Bucky speaks – _truly_ speaks – and the sound of his voice causes Steve’s heart to ache, as if someone’s reached into his chest and squeezed it.

Slowly, he turns his head back around. Bucky is still looking at him, still on edge. Still hesitating.

“They’re my friends,” Steve grates. “We can trust them.”

“Not them,” Bucky says flatly, and Steve realizes with a twist to his gut that Bucky’s not talking about S.H.I.E.L.D.

“I won’t let them take you—” He cuts himself off with a groan. He tries to sit up, but his body doesn’t obey him. The pain is too much, and Steve slumps down yet again, the cramps in his rib cage trapping his chest in a motion between expanding for air and not moving at all.

“You can’t do anything,” Bucky says. There’s no pity or sorrow in his voice; just a detached kind of assessment that makes his words sound cruel and taunting, but his eyes tell a different story… The gaze that meets Steve’s out of those grey mirrors are not dead anymore. There is _life_ ; an awareness that hadn’t been there before, and it’s enough to make the hope flutter to life inside Steve’s chest.

It only lasts for a second, and then Bucky turns, already moving to walk away.

“I’ll find you,” Steve wheezes, biting back another groan when the effort to talk makes his entire body hurt. Bucky doesn’t seem to care. He just keeps walking, and Steve fights against the dark spots flickering at the edge of his vision as he drags for a final breath, raising his voice as much as he can manage.

“I’m not leaving here without you, Buck. I promised you that, remember?”

At that, Bucky finally stops. Steve sees it when he turns sharply to look at him over his shoulder, mouth open and eyes wide. There is pain in his gaze, and something that Steve for a brief moment believes to be recognition. Then the dark begins to bleed into the image, and Steve drifts away; the memory of Bucky’s moving lips burning into his retinas as the world turns to black around him.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, guys! As always, you're the best! :D  
> If you're interested, I've also just posted a oneshot fic called ["Human Touch"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8021401) with some Bucky POV masturbation goodness that takes place shortly after the events of this chapter.  
> The fic works both as a stand-alone or a continuation of this chapter, so feel free to check it out, and please leave me a comment if you like it! :D 
> 
> Until next Monday, darlings <3


	17. 17

_**March 10th, 2015** _

 

It is getting late. The sun has just set behind the horizon, and its departure has left Paris suspended in twilight, trapped at the very edge between dusk and nightfall.

Steve is walking down the street. Looking around, he takes in the sight of the people around him, scanning the crowd and the faces he finds there. It has become a habit; one he can’t seem to shake, should he even want to try.

It has been a long time since he last visited France — the last time having been during the war, after the city’s liberation from the Nazis in 1944.

It looked different then, of course. A city having been occupied during war times for so long has a tendency to look slightly… rough around the edges. Nevertheless, Steve still recognizes the streets without much trouble, and for some reason, it makes the journey through the city feel a little like being reunited with an old friend.

Bucky had been with him back then. The Howling Commandos had been granted extra leave, and how could someone pass up the opportunity to visit the most romantic city in the world when given the chance?

They had gotten drunk, Steve remembers. Drunk enough to become careless, but luckily they had not been caught. Dougan and the others had their backs, keeping an eye out for them like they always did.

On their way back to the hotel, the two of them had stopped to make out in some dingy back alley, giggling and joking with each other while the snow whispered down around them. Christmas had been just around the corner, and with the summer’s liberation, the atmosphere was as merry as one could have ever hoped. It had been downright contagious.

Bucky had been happy. Steve still remembers the way his smile had reached all the way up to his eyes when he leaned in to kiss Steve on the mouth, pressing him up against the alley wall with a throaty chuckle that had shook Steve to the very core. Bucky’s hands had been so soft when he cupped Steve’s jaw. The touch of his lips like a balm to his soul – a moment of blissful silence in the middle of a roaring storm.

Steve bows his head down as he passes a group of people heading down the street in the opposite direction. They’re drunk, enthusiastically so, and none of them seem to even notice him as they walk past.

Steve is grateful for it. The odds of someone recognizing him isn’t big, but he’s still not willing to take the risk. All it takes is for one gossip rag to mention that Captain America is visiting the City of Lights, and all of their efforts will have been for nothing.

Of course, there’s no real guarantee that their efforts will pay off at all. He and Sam have been in Paris for almost a month now, and they still haven’t found a damn thing. Not as much as a trace. All they have is the surveillance photo which Nat sent to Steve’s cell phone, along with a testimony from some civilian who swears up and down that the person on the picture had an arm made of silver.

Steve knows for a fact that Bucky’s arm isn’t made out of silver, but he can see how someone might make that mistake.

That picture had been the first breakthrough they’d had in months. The first sign that Bucky was even still _alive_ , and Steve had been nearly beside himself with both apprehension and excitement. Every moment spent not looking for Bucky so far had been nearly unbearable, and Steve had endured more than one heated argument with both Sam and Natasha about whether or not to go running after every single lead he managed to dig up. 

Most of the time, Steve won, but there had been occasions where his resolve had been forced to bend for bigger, stronger wills… He hated it. Hated not being able to spend every single minute searching for whatever clues he can find about Bucky’s whereabouts. After all, why shouldn’t he be out here searching? Who else will come to Bucky’s aid if not him?

No one, that’s who.

Sam had realized pretty much immediately after Steve got the picture from Nat, that convincing Steve to stay would have been nothing but a waste of time. Instead, he had offered to come with him, and Steve had gratefully accepted. Sam knew what it felt like to lose someone important, and Steve suspects that if Sam had ever been told that Riley was still alive, he would have wanted to go looking for him as well.

Not that it had mattered… The trail had run cold about a week after Steve and Sam had arrived in Paris, and they had spent every day since trying to find it again, without success. Wherever he is, Bucky’s obviously not only good at hiding, but also at sweeping his tracks.

It hurts to think about it, but Steve suspects that Bucky has already left Paris. Maybe even France altogether, but he still refuses to give up. He is way past the point of searching to simply give up and go back. He _will_ bring Bucky home, no matter where home turns out to be, or how long it will take for them to get there. He has to.

Unfortunately, they’re on a bit of a schedule. Steve’s and Sam’s presence has been requested back in New York, and they both need to be leaving for the states in less than two days. Two days to find a man whom they haven’t been able to locate in two months. It is almost enough to make Steve question if Bucky had ever even been in Paris to begin with.

Bucky is on the run, and Steve knows that a man on the run – especially one with the Winter Soldier’s abilities – never tends to stick around the same place for too long. Especially if he’s running from arms as widespread as Hydra’s.

Could it really be that Hydra was still after him, after all this time?

Authorities all around the world have been hunting down the exposed members of Red Skull’s organization over the past year, and Steve suspects that ones who still remain in freedom have more pressing matters on their hands than chasing after a single lost soldier. There were never guaranties, of course. Steve and S.H.I.E.L.D. have both learned the hard way that Hydra has a tendency to bounce back if left unattended.

Luckily, unattendance is not on the table this time around.

Still… it makes Steve wonder if there are others in the city, right now, looking for Bucky much like he and Sam are? Or perhaps, if they’ve somehow managed to catch him already…?

No, they would have gotten word if that happened. One does not simply _catch_ the Winter Soldier without causing one hell of a ruckus. _Someone_ would have heard. 

But even so, why was Bucky still hiding from _them?_ Hadn’t Steve already proven that he meant him no harm? 

He can still recall the way Bucky had looked at him that day by the river side. The flash of something bright and lucid in his eyes, like a candle being lit, shining through what Steve suspects to have been years of darkness.

Had Bucky remembered him that day? Or had Steve simply been delirious enough to fool himself into thinking so?

If Bucky did not remember, then for him to stay in hiding wasn’t really that much of a surprise. To him, Steve and Sam might represent something even scarier than Hydra. Something that the Winter Soldier hasn’t been allowed to feel for God knows how many years.

Doubt.

Steve knows the feeling. He can relate. He just wishes that Bucky would give him a chance to prove it…

He rounds a corner and then slows to a halt. He is outside his and Sam’s hotel, looking in through the windows of the neighbouring restaurant. It’s a simple establishment, but the tables visible through the large panelled windows are all full, showing that whatever it lacks in exterior design, it seems to make up for in the quality of its food.

Steve takes a few steps towards the curb of the street and leans back against a tree there, where he waits for Sam to show up. It’s an agreement they have never to enter the hotel on their own, just in case of an ambush. Even if they’re the ones supposedly looking for Bucky, they can’t be completely sure that Bucky (or anyone else) isn’t also out there looking for _them_. To talk, or to fight, Steve doesn’t dare say…  

It’s a beautiful evening, and Steve takes a moment to look up at the sky where he stands, hidden in the shadows. The stars have begun to come out, a mere handful of them visible against the quickly darkening blue above, and Steve pulls his jacket a bit tighter around himself.

Spring hasn’t fully arrived yet, and the nights are still cold, even down here in the southern parts of Europe. Not that Steve feels the cold the same way that everyone else does; the serum along with his near lifetime suspended in ice has sort of rendered him immune against such simple things as freezing.

A movement at the corner of his eye catches his attention, and Steve turns his head to look as two men come walking out through the doors of the restaurant. They’re both wearing thick jackets and scarves, appropriately dressed for the weather. They’re holding hands.

Steve watches as the shorter of the two stops and leans in to give the other a kiss on the lips just as they reach the sidewalk, and how the taller man’s mouth widens into a happy grin in response before he reciprocates the gesture.

Steve looks down at his feet, and the couple walks away, disappearing down the street while murmuring and giggling between themselves. Their romantic departure leaves Steve’s chest feeling hollow and broken.  

It has been a long time since Steve had been kissed like that, yet not long enough for him to have forgotten what it used to feel like. It makes his heart ache with yearning, and suddenly the longing for the touch of Bucky’s hand against his cheek feels so strong it threatens to suffocate him.

_We could have this Buck,_ he thinks mournfully as he turns his gaze back towards the sky. _Times have changed, we wouldn’t have to hide. We could live the dream – the life none of us would have dared to hope for all those years ago. Don’t you see? Why won’t you come to me, what am I missing?_

_…_

_Do you even remember me…?_

He is startled out of his thoughts by the sound of footsteps jogging towards him, and when he looks up, he spots Sam coming across the street, heading his way.

“Sorry I’m late, man,” Sam says as he reaches him, and Steve leans off the tree, straightening up.

“It’s alright, I haven’t been here long.”

“Ah, cool.” Sam throws a quick look over his shoulder, and then he turns back to Steve, lowering his voice. “So?” he asks. “Any luck?”

Steve shakes his head, and Sam’s shoulders slump as he deflates a little.

“Dammit…” he whispers.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “Turns out the latest lead was a dead end. All I found was a pair of hobos and a dog named Tucker. Nice fellas. They asked me if I wanted to stick around for a game of cards.”

He tries to make it sound cheerful, but even as he says it he can hear the bitterness creep its way into the words. Sam hears it too, and he reaches out, placing a hand on Steve’s shoulder. Even through his jacket, Steve can feel the warmth of it against his skin. Apparently, he’s not as immune against the cold as he thought he was.

“Hey, man,” Sam says softly, canting his head to catch Steve’s gaze. “We’ll find him. Soldier boy can’t hide forever, you know that.”

Steve nods, but inside, he’s not feeling that convinced. He still manages a smile Sam’s way, and Sam squeezes his shoulder once more before letting it go.

As they head through the door leading into the hotel, Steve sends a final, surveying glance down the street – a last shot at spotting something that might be out of the ordinary. He finds nothing, and it’s with a heavy heart that he allows the front door to swing shut behind him as he follows Sam towards the elevators on the other side of the lobby.

He’ll find him.

If he has to tear the entire world apart in order to do it; _he’ll find him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading <3 I love you all, and I hope you're all having a great day so far :)  
> See you on Thursday!


	18. 18

_**June 18th, 2016** _

 

As Steve takes his first steps into the dingy apartment, the first thought that goes through his head is, _‘how long has he been living like this?’_.

There are newspapers covering the windows, and the few rays of light that somehow manages to creep through the seams in between the papers are barely enough to illuminate the worn and tattered interior of the room.

He doesn’t turn on the lights. Instead, he lets his eyes slowly adapt to the dusk around him until he can begin to make out the details of what he’s seeing.

It’s not big; just a studio apartment with a bathroom, and in a way it reminds Steve about the apartment Bucky had owned back in Brooklyn all those years ago.

Then of course, it’s not really the same.

Bucky’s apartment had been neat, with a fresh, joyful feeling to it. This one, however, is the exact opposite.

The walls are cracked in places, and there are pieces of the inner wall peeking out through the plaster and wallpaper, like open wounds bleeding into the room. The air feels stuffy; trapped inside the confined space of the apartment, and Steve suspects that it’s been a very long time since the windows or doors had been opened around this place.

There is a rustic bookshelf made from three layers of wooden planks and cinder blocks, stacked on top of each other, running along the right wall. Most of the shelves are empty, and those that aren’t seem to have been filled with the intent of simply cancelling out the space more than anything else. It’s an illusion of purpose, and Steve gets the feeling that the room’s been decorated by someone who’s not quite sure what a home is supposed to look like.

An aluminum table has been placed next to the bookshelf, every inch of it covered in various newspapers and cut out articles. It looks like a workspace, and even though it looks innocent enough at first glance, its alien nature still doesn’t seem to fit in with the rest of the furniture of the apartment, which is all wooden. The table is metal; hard and efficient, and whatever he’s _really_ using that table for – because it sure as hell isn’t to collect dusty old newspaper articles – Bucky had obviously bought it for that specific purpose.

Steve doesn’t linger at the mess on top of the table for long. Moving further inside, he turns his attention towards the small two-seat couch which sits in the middle of the room. It’s been strategically placed to face the front door, but the ragged pillows placed on top of it reveals that it’s been used as more than just a makeshift crow’s nest. There’s relaxation there, and it stands in stark contrast to the empty stretch of the bed that’s situated right in front of it.

Really, calling it a bed is a vast overstatement. It is just a mattress, lying directly on the floor with a single, white pillow on it and a sleeping bag. The sleeping bag has been folded aside, just enough for a person to get in and out of it, but it doesn’t look disturbed. As if it’s just there for show more than anything else.

It doesn’t look very inviting. In fact, it looks like the least used object in the entire apartment, which tells Steve that even though Bucky is indeed trying to create something resembling a life for himself again, he sure isn’t doing so by sleeping. The bed is an obvious necessity, not a luxury. The lack of proper beddings tell tales of nightmares, of limbs tangling and trapping themselves in sweat soaked fabric, of waking to the sound of your own scream catching in the back of your throat. It’s most likely easier to sleep without the sheets entirely; the importance of rest trumping that of appearance.

Steve knows what that’s like.

He can’t bear to look at the sight for long, and he quickly moves on, taking a few more steps into the room while the floorboards creak underneath the weight of his boots.

Why Romania, he wonders? Does the Winter Soldier have a connection to this place? Or is it the lack of connection that made it into such a perfect hiding spot?

He reaches the kitchen area, which is without a doubt the most inhabited part of the entire room. A bowl of what was probably cereal once is still sitting on the counter next to the cooking plate, along with a half-finished glass of water and a spoon. There’s more dishes on the counter, on both sides of the sink. There’s nothing _in_ the sink, though, as if the intention of doing dishes is still there, even if somewhat delayed in its execution. Not a big surprise; Bucky always hated doing the dishes… He did enjoy _cooking_ , however, and it lights a tentative little flicker of hope inside Steve’s heart to see that the kitchenette, even though sparsely equipped, is indeed being used.

He glances at the the greasy frying pan sitting at the very top of the dishes, then back to the bowl and whisk on the counter, and finally up at the big bag of flour on the shelf above.

Pancakes, he concludes. _Bucky’s_ pancakes. Steve bets the Winter Soldier wouldn’t waste his time with something as unwholesome as _that_.

Leaving the counter behind, he heads towards the fridge. There is a bunch of stuff stacked on top of it, and Steve can’t help but notice the not just one, but _two_ different bags of chips lying there.

Yeah, those were probably a new thing for Bucky to discover – they hadn’t really been around much back in their day, and the few times you could get hold of them, they had been both expensive and slightly tasteless, compared to modern day snacks.

There are a few health bars there too, but again, they’re health bars with caramel flavor rather than the solely nutritious, energy boosting ones. Another indulgence. Another luxury. If the bed is indeed the Winter Soldier’s side of the apartment, then the kitchen is without a doubt Bucky’s.

Underneath the collection of snacks, there’s a notebook sticking out, and Steve carefully picks it up, paging through it.

There are paper tags in different colors marking out specific sections of the book; blue, red and purple. Bucky’s handwriting beams up at Steve, painstakingly familiar as he reads the notes inside.

He quickly realizes that the red tags are bad. _Really_ bad. They speak of nightmares that might not be confined solely to the realm of dreams; of crimes and horrors mixed with regret. The handwriting here is scribbled as if in rage, or with a need to get the words down and out of mind as fast as possible, before they take root there. Steve makes a quick decision to skip those parts entirely.

Blue, on the other hand, is calmer. Here, the notes are written with precision. Care and contemplation radiates off the pages, and in a few places, there are dates too. The sections are clear and decisive, leaving no doubt that they’re in fact intact memories. There are more of them than Steve expects, but they’re still discouragingly fewer than the red and purple ones…

The purple sections are all filled with rambling sentences, crossed out words and question marks. There’s doubt here, as if Bucky’s been second guessing himself whether these things really happened or not.  

Steve skims through the pages without really reading them – he doesn’t have any intentions to snoop like that –  but then, just as he’s thinking about putting the book down, he turns to look at the one page that’s been specifically singled out using the book’s standard ribbon bookmark. As his eyes lands on the entry, he feels his heart stutter to a stop.

He stares down at the book, and at the picture that’s been taped to the opened page, covering it entirely. The picture of _him_.

It’s a drawn image, depicting Steve in full uniform, saluting the American flag that’s waving dramatically in the background. There are words printed across the bottom of the portrait, and Steve realizes that what he’s looking at is a pamphlet from the old Captain America exhibition at the Smithsonian from two years ago.

Bucky went there?

His gaze drifts to the opposite page as he starts to skim through the notes. There aren’t many, and the sight makes him disappointed at first, until he sees what they say.

At the very top, right next to the picture, there’s the word ‘Important’ written across the entire width of the page. The strokes of the letters have been filled in, over and over again, making them bold against the thin lines of the paper.

Neatly printed a bit lower down, it says ‘Steve(n) Rogers’, and underneath it, in smaller letters, is the name ‘Stevie’. Next to the name, is the word ‘Friends?’, followed by a viciously crossed out ‘Lovers?’, as if the thought alone had scared Bucky out of his mind the very moment he wrote it down. Instead, the word ‘More?’ had been added, like a sheepish little compromise between the two.

A list of years and dates follow, but without any context, as if Bucky doesn’t need notes to remember whatever it is they represent. Steve recognizes a few of them, like his own birthday, and the year the two of them had first met. A third is the date Bucky shipped out to join the army back in 1943.

The word ‘train’, printed almost timidly next to one of the final dates sends a momentary chill down Steve’s spine, but it’s quickly erased by the hot wave that goes through him as his eyes catch on to something way more insistent.

There, circled in red marker at the very centre of the page:

_‘til the end of the line’._

He stares at the words, still trying to take in what they represent when his earpiece suddenly crackles to life.

_“Head’s up, Cap. German Special Forces approaching from the south.”_

Sam’s voice is low, urgent, and Steve sends a final, begrudging look at the words before him.

“Understood,” he says.

He has barely finished the sentence when he suddenly detects the faint sound of breathing coming from behind him, and he stiffens, anticipating an assault. When no blow comes, he slowly closes the notebook and turns around.

Bucky is standing a few feet behind him, looking at him from the other side of the couch, and the only thing Steve can think is, _No_ . _No, no, you shouldn’t be here, they’re_ coming _for you!_

Bucky doesn’t say anything, and as they stand there, staring each other down, Steve can’t help but notice how close Bucky’s managed to get. How did he do that anyway, the floorboards were all creaking like crazy less than a minute ago? Unless…? Steve winces inwardly. Unless only a _few_ of the floorboards were, in fact, creaking, and Bucky had made sure to memorize which ones that didn’t. Steve had let his guard down, thinking that he surely would hear it if someone tried to enter the room unnoticed, and it had backfired on him. Wow, what a slip up.

He sends a quick look up and down Bucky’s body, taking in his appearance.

He looks… healthy, for lack of a better word. He’s visibly fit, even through the bulk of the clothes he’s got on. His hair is clean, and even though his face could need a shave, his appearance still looks deliberate and thought through.

It’s a good sign, but Steve is still wary. He’s not sure what kind of greeting he should be expecting here; being a trespasser dressed up in full battle gear, no less.

It is a strange feeling, to stand so close to each other without fighting this time. Like a case of deja vu with the outcome altered. It brings so many things back to life; memories of times since long gone, of all the different touches and words that had once existed between them, for better and for worse.

Memories that, judging by the words of the book in Steve’s hand, Bucky has begun to remember…

“Do you know me?” The words tumble out of Steve’s mouth harsher than he intends them to, and he nearly regrets having asked when all Bucky does in response is stare at him.

He looks nervous. On edge. The way his chest rises and falls is not in any way a display of  the frightening calm that the Winter Soldier had displayed two years earlier. It’s tense, guarded, and Steve waits. For a moment, Bucky’s breathing goes harsher and he blinks rapidly, as if he had just caught himself on the verge of saying or thinking something that he shouldn’t have.

“You’re Steve,” is what he says instead, at the same time as his gaze drifts to the notebook in Steve’s hand. “I read about you in a museum,” he adds quickly, gesturing vaguely towards the book before looking back up, glaring at Steve as if daring him to argue.

Steve swallows as the sound of Bucky’s voice ripple down his spine, because it truly _is_ his voice; _Bucky’s_ voice. It’s tired, rough and worn, but it’s _there_ , and it sounds nothing like the apathetic cold that the Winter Soldier’s voice had held.

 _“They’ve set the perimeter,”_ Sam cautions through Steve’s earpiece, and Steve swallows again, carefully setting the notebook down on the kitchen table next to the dirty plate.

“I know you’re nervous,” he says as he takes a slow step forward. “And you have plenty of reason to be.” Steve pauses, expecting some sort of answer. Bucky’s mouth just closes as he continues to glare. “But you’re lying,” Steve prompts.

“I wasn’t in Vienna,” Bucky says with a slight shake of his head. “I don’t do that anymore.”

_“They’re entering the building.”_

Steve throws a quick glance out the window, almost expecting to see the barrel of an assault rifle staring back at him as he does. When he is met with nothing, he turns back towards Bucky, moving forward again.

“Well, the people who think you did are coming here now,” he explains. “And they’re not planning on taking you alive.”

“That’s smart,” Bucky says flatly. “Good strategy.”

His eyes dart to the ceiling, and a split second after, Steve hears footsteps sound above their heads.

_“They’re on the roof.”_

“This doesn’t have to end in a fight, Buck,” Steve says. His voice is shaking with insistency, but Bucky just sighs.

“It always ends in a fight,” he says. He sounds sad and dejected – resigned – and it hits Steve like a punch to the gut that this isn’t the first time people have come this far. This is not the first time Bucky’s been forced to leave whatever sort of life or home he’s managed to puzzle back together since his escape from Hydra. The insight alone makes Steve feel sick to his stomach.

 _“Five seconds.”_ Sam warns, and once again, Steve’s eyes drift towards the window as he shifts his weight nervously. They need to go. They need to go _right now._

“You pulled me from the river,” he snaps, watching Bucky pull the glove off of his left hand, revealing a faint gleam of metal in the dusk. “Why?”

There’s a moment of hesitation, and then Bucky sighs as he looks up at him again.

“I don’t know,” he says, but there’s a tremble to his voice that Steve knows all too well. It’s the tremble that says that Bucky _does_ know; he just doesn’t want _Steve_ to know.

The memory of the word _‘Important’_ scribbled down in Bucky’s handwriting makes a glowering reappearance inside Steve’s head.

_“Three seconds!”_

“Yes, you do,” he says calmly.

_“Breach! Breach!”_

The window to Steve’s right shatters as a grenade comes crashing through it, and Steve reacts without even thinking. He throws his shield up, and the flashbang explodes against the sink without doing any harm as he bats it away. Immediately after, a second shell is thrown through the second window, landing on the floor. Steve sees Bucky aim a kick towards it, towards _him_ , and as Steve detaches the shield from his arm in preparation for what he believes Bucky’s planning for him to do, he realizes with a disappointed twist to his gut that this is not going to end the way he had hoped.

Somehow, Bucky had been aware of that from the very start.

_It always ends in a fight…_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading <3  
> I hope you liked the chapter, and I wanna let you guys know that there's going to be a little more "non-canon" interactions happening from now on since Civil War didn't give us the Stucky experience we all needed ;) So stay tuned for more, and I'll see you all on Monday! :D
> 
> Take care of yourselves, sweeties <3


	19. 19

_**June 18th, 2016** _

 

The boom that echoes through the industrial warehouse when Steve lowers the mechanical press down is loud enough to scare the pigeons huddled up beneath the rafters into flight. It’s a delicate process – Steve has no idea how much pressure Bucky’s arm can take without breaking, but at the same time he really doesn’t want to risk him breaking free either.

Bucky is still unconscious. Steve had, after a few failed attempts, managed to prop him up into a relatively upright position by seating him on top of a wooden box found amongst the debris scattered around the abandoned warehouse. At the moment, Bucky is sitting slouched against the side of the large industrial machine which Steve is currently using to secure him with. His head is hung low in between his shoulders, long hair hanging down to cover his face as water drips from the strands to form dark puddles on the floor.

Once Steve is sure that Bucky’s left arm has been properly clamped in place, he takes a slow step back to look at the unconscious man before him.

It’s the first time that he actually gets to see him properly, he realizes. The apartment had been too dark, and after their capture, Bucky had been confined out of Steve’s sight almost immediately. Not to mention that the fight that followed soon after had been more than just a tad bit hectic…

Steve squats down on the floor next to Bucky’s body, and gently reaches up to brush the wet curls of hair away from Bucky’s face. He can feel the heat that radiates off of Bucky’s skin when his fingers make contact with his forehead. A normal person would have felt cold, especially since Bucky’s clothes are all still soaked in frigid river water, but Steve already knows that Bucky – much like Steve himself – isn’t exactly normal anymore.

Normal people are not capable of single-handedly fighting their way out of a high security facility. Unarmed, to boot.

Jesus Christ, how did this happen?

It had been that goddamn power outage. Before that, Bucky had been calm, almost apathetic.

Then he had been left alone with that… person.

Steve has no idea who that guy really was, but he sure as hell hadn’t been a doctor, and if Steve’s suspicions are correct, he’s also the one responsible for bombing the UN. Compared to that, creating a power outage here had to have been mere child’s play…

But how the hell had he managed to get so far into base without being detected? There were ID controls, security checkpoints. Preparing to make it through those without raising suspicion must have taken months. Years. And all this effort, just to get to _Bucky?_

To what end? It doesn’t make any sense!

Why Bucky? The attack on the UN had targeted him for a reason. To flush him out, to get him captured. To put him in a specific place at a specific time. With a specific doctor.

Steve had seen the cage they had put Bucky in. A big, sturdy thing. It had been far too solid for anyone to break into, and Bucky had been restricted to his chair, with electrical charges surging into his arm to keep him immobile. But with the power gone…

Steve doesn’t know for sure if the purpose of the outage had been to actually set Bucky free, but he can’t really think of any other reason to take the power out like that. The door to the cage had been knocked off its hinges from the inside, Steve had seen that with his own two eyes. Yet, even when freed from the electricity, Steve doesn’t believe that Bucky would actually have attempted an escape on his own accord.

The Winter Soldier, on the other hand…

Because it _had been_ the Winter Soldier Steve had been faced with inside that room. Not Bucky. Not Steve’s friend, who keeps journals of his lost memories and refers to Steve as ‘important’ in big, bolded letters. Once again, Steve had been greeted by a gaze filled with rage. With cold, grey eyes gleaming with indifference and savage intentions, and yet…?

_My name is Bucky._

Bucky had chosen to use his own name – his own identity – for the hearing, rather than the one used to address him. He had made a choice, for himself. A final, conscious decision before whatever happened in there had gone down.

When Steve and Sam arrived to the cell block, all the guards in the room outside Bucky’s cell had been knocked out cold. Not killed. At least going by the guard Steve had stopped to check up on. Compared to that time at the Triskelion, where the Winter Soldier had murdered indifferently, this was something completely new. This time, he left practically everyone alive.

Why?

When Steve then went on in to confront the impostor, Bucky hadn’t attacked him. He had waited. Because he had been ordered to leave Steve alone? Or because he didn’t want to hurt him?

He hadn’t chased after Steve down the elevator either. As soon as Steve had been removed from his immediate proximity, Bucky had continued on his path, heading straight for the roof. He had continued _out_ , as if that was all that mattered. To get away.

If it’s one thing Steve has learnt from the past, it’s the fact that the Winter Soldier doesn’t quit until the job is done. The Winter Soldier doesn’t run away.

And yet this time, that’s exactly what he had done.

Slowly, Steve moves his fingers up to comb through the hair at the top of Bucky’s head, watching his face for any signs of movement. There are none.

Could it be it possible that even through the Winter Soldier, Bucky has become strong enough to actually affect what’s going on around him, to some extent? To fight back against the conditioning Hydra put him through all those years?

Will Bucky be able to give him any answers once he wakes up?

Steve swallows, and suddenly there’s a thick lump in the back of his throat that threatens to choke him. Just like that, it finally strikes him that he actually found him. He _found_ him, and he’s right here, in front of him, right now.

Bucky has changed, he can’t deny that. But it’s still the same thick eyelashes, the same jaw, the same familiar nose and mouth, and Steve’s gaze drops down to the delicate curve of Bucky’s lips. They’re slightly parted, and God, Steve wants to lean in and kiss him so bad he aches with it. Wants to feel Bucky’s breath against his lips, just to make sure that he’s _alive._

He can feel his fingers begin to tremble as he slowly slides his hands down to cup the sides of Bucky’s face. Leaning in, he then presses his forehead against Bucky’s own and holds there, feeling the steady beat of Bucky’s pulse thrum against the pad of his fingers.

It’s like a weight dropping off his shoulders – one of many, but still significant – and when he tries to swallow again, the lump in his throat won’t let him. His lip begins to shake, and he grits his teeth and closes his eyes against the tears that threaten to well up behind his eyelids.

A loud rattle from behind startles him, and he whirls around, standing up to cover Bucky’s lifeless body with his own.

“Woah, easy there, big guy.” Sam raises both hands into the air, palms out where he stands in the open doorway, and Steve relaxes. Damnit, he hadn’t heard him come in.

“I got your message,” Sam says as he slowly lowers his hands down. Then he leans to the side to look at the partially hidden man behind Steve’s back, before looking back at Steve again. His face is blank, but his eyes holds a very distinct question that makes Steve’s heart race. It’s a look that says he totally saw the way Steve had been touching Bucky’s face just now, and that he knew it hadn’t been in a totally platonic friendship sort of way either.

For a moment, Steve thinks Sam’s going to ask what the hell Steve _had_ been doing, but the question never comes. Instead, Sam simply shifts his gaze to look at Bucky again before making a quick throw with his head in his direction.

“He alive?” he asks.

“Yes,” Steve answers tightly. Sam gives him a penetrative stare.

“Is he _safe?_ ” he prompts. The tone of his voice makes it very clear that he’s not asking about Bucky’s health, and Steve sighs, looking over his shoulder and down at the top of Bucky’s head where it’s resting against the side of the press.

“I don’t know,” he says truthfully.

He hears the sound of Sam’s footsteps against the concrete floor when Sam comes up to stand beside him.

“What the hell happened back there, man?” Sam asks. Once more, Steve can only shake his head.

“That’s one friend you’ve got there,” Sam continues with a snort. “You go out of your way to vouch for his fugitive ass, and he repays you by going on a killing spree?”

“It wasn’t him,” Steve grits out, and Sam instantly goes quiet. It’s not Sam’s fault, Steve knows that. Sam has every right to be suspicious and angry about what happened, which is exactly why Steve feels so frustrated. The only excuse he has is that Bucky hadn’t been acting out of his own will. He had been controlled, _again_ , and the fact that Steve hadn’t been able to prevent it from happening makes him feel useless in ways he hasn’t felt since before he joined the army.

“It wasn’t him…” he repeats, more to himself than anyone else.

“I know,” Sam says softly. Steve doesn’t know if he really means it, or if he’s just saying so to assure Steve that he means no harm. Not that it matters – Sam came when Steve called, and that’s all the confirmation Steve needs.

“Who the hell _was_ that quack doctor, anyway?” Sam continues with a frown, and Steve sighs. For some reason, it feels like that's all he's capable of doing nowadays.

“I don’t know,” he admits, for what has to be the millionth time. He doesn’t _know anything_ , and the cold hard truth of it makes him want to punch something.

Sam lets out a contemplating hum, and then nods his head towards Bucky.

“Maybe he knows,” he suggests.

Steve follows his gaze. The water has stopped dripping from Bucky’s clothes, and the only remaining evidence of their dip in the river are the wet puddles surrounding his boots. He’s still asleep, and his chest is rising and falling steadily beneath the wet stretch of his henley.

He looks tired and worn out, and Steve’s heart gives a painful throb at the sight of him.

“Yeah,” he says under his breath. “Let’s hope so…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, friends <3  
> Next chapter is going to be a good one, I promise ;)


	20. 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, guy, work's been a bitch.  
> I'm back now though, and future chapters should be posted on time <3

_**June 18th, 2016** _

 

“They’re gonna be looking all over for the two of you,” Sam says firmly. “You so much as poke your nose outside this place, and they’ll come barrelling down on you with everything they’ve got.”

“Then what about you?” Steve argues. “They’ve gotta be looking for you too by now, right?”

“Yeah, they are,” Sam says, grinning as he pushes his cap down on top of his head. “But I’ve got a secret weapon that you guys don’t.”

“What’s that?” Steve frowns.

“I’m a black dude,” Sam points out confidently. “Best disguise a brother can have. To them white agents swarming around, we all look exactly the same. Although,” he adds contemplatively, “that does have a tendency to backfire sometimes…”

Steve snorts out a laugh, shaking his head, and Sam gives him a shallow punch to the shoulder before slipping out the door.

“Remember,” Steve reminds him, “nothing too fancy. We're looking for a getaway car, not a spaceship.”

“You sure?” Sam asks skeptically. “At this point, a spaceship might be better?”

“ _One_ federal agency chasing us is quite enough,” Steve chides. “If possible, I'd like to keep NASA out of this for as long as I can.”

“Point taken,” Sam agrees. “I’ll text you when I find something. Until then, stay low. And keep an eye on Winter Boy over there. ”

Steve sends a quick look over his shoulder to where Bucky is still trapped to the industrial press, staring down at the floor. “It wasn’t his fault,” he says quietly.

“Yeah, you told me.” Sam lets out a sigh. “And if what you say about that is true, then I honestly feel sorry for the guy. Still…” He puts a supportive hand against Steve's shoulder. “Be careful, man.”

“You too,” Steve offers, and just like that, Sam’s gone.

Steve sighs, dragging his fingers through his hair before turning back towards the inside of the warehouse. He has already made the decision, of course, and when he walks over and begins to raise the plates of the mechanical press, Bucky watches him do so without a word. When the gap is wide enough, Bucky pulls himself free with a faint zing of metal against metal and holds the arm up to inspect it.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

“No problem,” Steve says as he steps away from the machine to let the press fall back down.

“Not for letting me go.” Bucky's gaze shifts, moving away from the arm to look Steve straight in the eye. “I meant thank you for restraining me.”

The words are said with such blank sincerity, they leave Steve completely stumped. He opens his mouth, but he can’t find any words. How does one respond to something like that? What does an expression of gratitude in that context even _mean?_

Bucky most likely notices Steve’s struggle, because he looks away again, just as fast. Steve watches as he gingerly stands up from the crate he’s been sitting on during his captivity and walks a few paces towards the centre of the room. Once there, he stretches, just as slowly. His movement are guarded, every single one of them vigilant and calculated, deliberately nonchalant, and the intention behind them hits Steve like a punch to the chest.

“You don’t have to do that,” he says hoarsely, and Bucky freezes, shoulders squaring. “You can move around freely, I’m not afraid of you.”

“Well, you should be,” Bucky counters. His voice is low, and he doesn’t turn around as he says it.

“I should be a lot of things,” Steve retorts simply.

At that, Bucky turns his head slightly to the side, but he doesn’t look up. His hair is hanging down in front of his face like a curtain, hiding it from view, and Steve can’t read the look in his eyes. Not that he needs to when there are so many other things to go by.

Bucky is behaving like a spooked animal, but Steve doesn't need to be told that it’s not Steve that he’s being wary of.

It’s himself.

Keeping his distance, moving slow and warily, as if he’s scared that too-violent gestures will accidentally wake the Winter Soldier from his dormant slumber at any given moment. It hurts to look at, in more ways than one, and Steve finds himself moving before he’s even had time to think the decision through properly.

“Stop it,” he orders as he walks around to stand in front of the other man, halting less than two feet away from him. “Alright? Just stop.”

Bucky glares at him, obviously displeased about having been caught out so easily, and Steve sighs as he tips his head back towards the ceiling for a moment to gather himself.

“This wasn’t your fault, Buck,” he says. “You got set up.”

“I’m aware of that,” Bucky retorts dryly.

“Then you should already know that you’re not to blame,” Steve argues. “Whoever that person back at headquarters was, he’s the one responsible for all this.”

“Is he now?” Bucky asks with a condescending snort. “Are you sure about that?”

When Steve just frowns in confusion, Bucky lets out an exasperated sigh, and moving away from Steve, he balls his hands into fists by his sides as he closes his eyes. “I never should have let them catch me…” he murmurs. “Then none of this would have happened.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself,” Steve argues.

“No, I’m not,” Bucky growls. “If it hadn't been for me, that book would have been useless. I should never have allowed such a dangerous weapon to fall into enemy hands. It should have been destroyed, not hidden.”

“You wasn’t even aware that book still existed, Buck,” Steve argues.

“Not the book,” Bucky says, shaking his head. “The book is just a manual, not a weapon in itself.”

“Then what are you—?”

“I’m talking about _me,_ ” Bucky snaps, turning around to glower at Steve. “ _I’m_ the weapon. And as long as I’m around, it means that anyone who gets a hold of that book will be able to use me, just like that bastard did today!”

Steve straightens up. Bucky is still glaring at him, but that’s not what Steve’s concerned with right now. He goes through Bucky's words one more time, analyzing them inside his head from every possible angle before he opens his mouth to speak.

“So what you’re saying,” he starts slowly, “is that you shouldn’t have let them _catch_ you…”

Bucky’s lips narrow into a thin, grim line, and Steve feels his insides ice over.

“That doesn’t leave much of an alternative,” he pushes on, and this time, Bucky’s glare falters as he turns his gaze towards the floor by Steve’s feet.

Oh.

Oh, that’s more painful than Steve could have ever imagined it would be.

“Bucky…” he starts, but he doesn’t know what to say.

Suicide by cop. That would have been Bucky’s plan, had Steve not shown up in his apartment the way he had. Jesus Christ…

“How many times have you thought about doing that?” he asks slowly. “To just let them gun you down?”

Bucky shrugs. “Enough,” he answers simply.

“So what stopped you?” Steve asks. He takes a step forward, but Bucky doesn't look up. His gaze is still turned down, aimed at the floor in avoidance.

“I don’t know,” he whispers.

“That’s what you told me back in your apartment too,” Steve points out calmly. “And I still don’t believe you.”

At that, Bucky’s eyes shift to look at him. The glare is gone, but instead there’s a guarded gleam in the depths of his eyes, as if he already knows what Steve’s about to say next.

“I saw your notebook,” Steve says softly.

“I know,” Bucky grates.

“Then you also know that I saw the entry you made. About me.”

“I do.”

Steve takes another step, coming closer. Bucky doesn’t move.

“How much do you remember?” Steve murmurs, and Bucky swallows, hesitating. Steve can see the nervous clench of his jaw, even as Bucky tries to look unfazed.

“Buck…” Steve raises his hand towards Bucky’s face, to comfort and support, but as he does, Bucky flinches and bares his teeth in a mute snarl as he recoils from the touch. Steve halts.

His hand is still reached out, suspended in midair, and blinking with the realization of what he had just done, Bucky lets his shoulders slump, as if in shame.

A deafening silence fills the air as a lifetime of conversations passes in between the two of them. Blue meets gray, holds, and then Steve gently, and ever so slowly, steps forward to place his palm against the side of Bucky’s face.

Bucky looks absolutely terrified where he stands, eyes wide and nostrils flaring, like a deer caught in the headlights of a speeding truck. It is difficult, but somehow Steve manages to keep both his voice and hand from trembling when he feels the tension coil inside the man before him.

“Tell me,” he begs. “Please, Buck. If you really do remember, then please…”

Bucky looks away. Not because he doesn’t want to talk, Steve realizes, but because he can’t. His throat bobs as he swallows, yet again, and Steve reaches down to softly wrap his hand around Bucky’s finger to pull them up and hold them against his chest. “Please,” he whispers.

Bucky’s eyes flicker up to where Steve’s fingers are curled around his, and then dives back down to stare at the ground by their feet. Steve waits.

He has waited for years already – he’s not about to start rushing things now when they matter more than ever.

After almost a full minute, Bucky still hasn’t moved, and his hand feels limp and feeble in Steve’s grip. His breathing sounds shallow, and when Steve moves his thumb to tenderly swipe back and forth over Bucky’s cheek, Bucky’s breath hitches.

Somewhere above the building, a chopper approaches, and Steve lifts his head towards the ceiling of the warehouse, listening intently. The sound grows stronger, but then passes over them and disappears into the distance once more as the helicopter does what Steve assumes to be a final sweep of the area before heading back to get refueled. Steve relaxes, slowly exhaling a deeply held breath of relief.

“I remember a room,” Bucky whispers, and Steve’s heart nearly stops beating inside his chest. Slowly, he turns to look down at the top of Bucky’s head, barely daring to breathe in fear of breaking whatever spell that's currently making Bucky speak.

“There’s a kitchen area, and a round table with four chairs,” Bucky continues, his voice growing steadier. “One of the table legs have been patched up with a wooden board and three nails.”

Steve lets out a dazed chuckle, squeezing Bucky’s hand.

“Yes,” he whispers encouragingly. “Yes, that’s my apartment.”

“There’s a couch with pictures hanging on the wall behind it,” Bucky continues, as if he hasn’t even noticed Steve's input. “Sketches. Yours. There’s a bed too, and I’m— I’m lying on it.” Bucky’s breath stutters to a halt, and his shoulders square, as if he’s bracing himself for the most difficult part. “You’re there too,” he breathes.

“Yes,” Steve answers, because he knows.

“We’re not wearing any clothes,” Bucky informs him, almost in challenge, as if he wants to see if the information will shock Steve in any way.

“That’s how we usually ended up,” Steve confirms, and something in Bucky’s gaze shifts. His lips part in a silent inhale of air, before he looks back down again.

“Were we—?” His voice breaks, and Steve feels the fingers in his grip squeeze back, finally. “Were we really like that?” Bucky asks. “You and I?”

“We were,” Steve confirms, and Bucky lets out a disbelieving chuckle, followed immediately by another, broken little noise, like half a sob.

“I thought they were just dreams,” he says under his breath. “My brain trying to puzzle itself back together and messing up the pieces.”

“That's not strange,” Steve tries to console, but Bucky just shakes his head

“There are so many images,” he mumbles. “You and me, alone. You, touching me. Kissing me…” He shakes his head, as if doing so will help sort the memories into place. “I just— It doesn't make any sense,” he grates. Steve frowns when he hears the hint of panic that creeps his way into Bucky’s voice when he continues, “Because there’s you and me, and we’re together and we’re _happy_ , but then there are others too, and I’m— I’m kissing someone, and it’s not you, and it feels so _wrong_ , but it’s still _me_ doing it, and I don’t—!”

“Bucky, we _had to,_ ” Steve explains, gripping Bucky’s hand tighter to stifle the hysteria shaking through the other man's limbs. “It’s okay, you didn't do anything wrong. We had an agreement, don’t you remember? We didn’t have a choice.”

Bucky is still shaking, but slowly, his breathing returns to normal, and Steve swallows around the thick lump that appears in his throat when Bucky’s shoulders heave in a tight inhale and exhale of air.

It’s obvious that those particular memories are difficult for Bucky to reconcile with. After all, why wouldn’t they be? Bucky’s head is already filled with recollections of things he’s done, but didn’t want to do. Thousands of flashback where his hands perform actions while his brain keeps screaming for him to stop, and of course, this is no different. Sure, this specific case doesn’t involve death or torture, but it has got to be just as traumatizing for him nonetheless, to even suspect that he hadn't been the one in control of his own body.

“We couldn’t let people see us like that, Buck,” Steve soothes again. “We needed to be seen with girls, or people were bound to start talking, and… the girls just liked you better than they liked me.” He ducks his head, shaking it slowly. “I always felt so guilty about that,” he confesses. “You didn’t want to kiss or be kissed by those women, but you went through with it anyway. For my sake.”

He tries a smile, but since Bucky is still watching the ground, he doesn’t see it. He still looks ashamed, and doubtful, and Steve's heart breaks with empathy for him.

“You did a lot for my sake,” he carries on, taking on a more cheerful tone. “You taught me how to box, even though I could barely hold my stance for longer than two minutes in the beginning. You _tried_ to teach me how to dance too, despite the fact that I kept stepping on your toes every other turn.” He leans down, canting his head in an attempt to catch Bucky’s gaze. “Do you remember that?”

Bucky doesn’t look up, but he nods, once, in silence.

“Or what about that time,” Steve prompts, “when I tried to make you a birthday cake?”

Bucky’s brow furrows, and silence lowers itself between them as he thinks back. “You used blue frosting,” he says pensively.

“I _tried_ ,” Steve repeats, and at that, the corner of Bucky’s mouth twitches up into a hesitant little smile.

“You broke the spritzer,” he recalls, chuckling under his breath. “We had to wash the frosting out of your hair in the bathtub.”

Steve laughs, and ducks down to lightly press his forehead against Bucky’s own. He swipes his thumb over the back of Bucky's hand, mimicking the movement against Bucky's cheek with the other hand.

“You still ate the cake,” he murmurs softly.

“I did,” Bucky agrees. “You went through all that trouble making it. It only seemed fair.”

“It tasted horrible,” Steve says with a grimace and Bucky snorts out a laugh through his nose.

“It really did,” he confesses.

“There were lumps of flour baked into the dough.”

“And eggshells,” Bucky adds with a smirk as he finally looks up at him.

“Really?” Steve asks, wincing.

“Yeah,” Bucky admits with an amused chuckle. “I never told you about them, though. You looked so embarrassed already, I didn’t want to make it worse.”

“See?” Steve smiles. “Another awful thing you had to suffer through for my sake.”

Again, Bucky’s mouth curls into a smile, and then he leans in and presses a kiss against Steve’s lips, almost shyly. Steve goes still, temporarily stunned, and then every single atom in his body kicks into jubilating motion as he begins to kiss back.

Just like that, it’s all fingers sliding against jawlines, tongues dragging across lips and hot, jagged breath rushing down Steve’s lungs with every shuddering beat of his heart.

Bucky clings to him, pressing close as if he’s scared that Steve will evaporate into thin hair if he lets him go. The sound of his voice shakes its way down Steve’s spine when Bucky lets out a moan into the kiss, at the same time as Steve feels the cold metal of Bucky’s hand clasp around the back of his neck.

Oh, it’s like Heaven. No bliss can possibly compare to having the heat of Bucky’s body slot up against his skin, and Steve slips his hand down from Bucky’s face to rub it down the side of his neck and on across his shoulder. His fingers skate across the sleek surface of metal as he reaches Bucky’s left arm, but the very moment his hand makes contact with the limb, the brute clasp of inhuman fingers closes around Steve’s wrist when Bucky tears away from the kiss with a warning snarl.

“Don’t—!” he growls, and Steve freezes. It only lasts for a second, and then Bucky lets Steve go as he takes a quick, remorseful step back, breathing hard.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps. “That wasn't you, I— It's just my arm, I can’t—”

“No,” Steve says firmly when he realizes what the other must be talking about. _Others_ have touched that arm, and going by Bucky's reaction and Hydra’s reputation, the most likely have not been gentle. “No,” he repeats, “Buck, _I'm_ sorry. I should have known better.”

“No, that’s—” Bucky cuts himself off with a trembling whimper, fists shaking. “I _want_ you to touch, that's the problem. I want to do this _right_ , dammit, but I can’t— It’s been so long, and I can’t control the things inside my head, Steve, I—”

“Hey,” Steve whispers softly, and Bucky instantly goes quiet. Steve takes a slow step forward, making sure to give Bucky as much time as he can before bringing his hand up to rest it against Bucky’s face once more. This time, Bucky lets him, and Steve waits until he’s completely sure that it’s okay before he leans in and gives Bucky a soft, reassuring kiss on the lips.

The moment Steve’s mouth brushes against his, Bucky lets out a sigh, letting Steve move closer, and Steve takes special care not to touch anywhere near Bucky’s arm as he deepens the kiss further.

“We’ll be okay, Buck,” he whispers. “There’s still time.”

Bucky nods, and when he moves to wrap both his arms around Steve’s shoulders for the second time, the touch feels like a promise.

Slowly, Steve moves his hands down to rest them lightly atop the curve of Bucky's hips, nuzzling his nose against Bucky's temple.

“I’ve got you,” he breathes, “and I’ll always have you, no matter what, I promise.”

At that, Bucky lets out a choked little noise that sounds like a mix between a laugh and a sob, and Steve feels Bucky's fingers twitch against his shoulders.

Then they’re kissing again. It's slow and unhurried, almost lazy. Bucky's lips are warm, his breathing steady, and for the first time in what has to be ages, Steve feels content.

They kiss like that until the vibration of Steve’s cellphone startles them both back to reality. Bucky makes a disappointed little noise when Steve makes an attempt to pull away from the kiss, and Steve gives an apologetic suckle to Bucky’s lower lip before digging the offensive piece of technology out of his pocket to look at the message lighting up the screen.

“Sam says he found us just the right car,” he informs dutifully.

“Which is…?” Bucky asks. He doesn't sound very interested, and he's not making any move implying that he plans to let Steve go anytime soon.

“It doesn't say,” Steve says. “We talked about getting something a bit older. New cars have GPS and all kinds of tracking devices installed in them nowadays, and I don't want to risk anyone using that to hunt us down.”

“Sounds smart,” Bucky murmurs. He has already begun to lean in for another kiss when the device in Steve’s hand buzzes again, and Steve pretends that he doesn't hear the other's annoyed huff when he brings the phone up to read the new text.

“Huh,” he says.

“What?” Bucky grumbles impatiently.

“I don't know why,” Steve continues slowly, reading the message one more time before continuing, “but he wants me to tell you that he calls shotgun.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and thank you for being so patient with me <3  
> Until next week, my lovelies <3 :)


	21. 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At first, i considered skipping writing this chapter, due to the daunting amount of complications it might bring to Steve and Bucky's relationship. Then I decided that I simply had to write it.  
> In order to follow the storyline of the movie, and keep the characters true to their relationship at the same time, it had to be written. Not doing so would have been an insult to them both, and in the end, I believe bringing the topic of this chapter up between the two of them only served to prove the strenght and trust of their relationship.
> 
> So I hope you enjoy this chapter, because it was an emotional bitch to write XD

_**June 20th, 2016** _

 

Steve sets the quinjet to autopilot and makes his way towards the rear of the plane. Bucky is already there, seated in one of the mounted chairs near the back. He’s been quiet almost the entire time since they left the airport, and Steve’s body is already tense with anxious worry for whatever it is that has the other man acting so remote and brooding.

Bucky gives him a quick glance out of the corner of his eye as Steve comes up to stand in front of him, and in return, Steve attempts an encouraging little smile. Bucky doesn’t return it, and Steve’s heart sinks even further.

“You doin’ alright?” he asks softly.

“Yeah,” Bucky mumbles, looking back down at his feet. “I’m fine.”

“Okay. Wow, that’s—” Steve cuts himself off with a disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head.

“What?” Bucky mutters.

Steve gives him a long look, and then snorts bitterly. “Whenever you say you’re fine, that usually means I’m about to get myself an earful.”

The scowl on Bucky’s face drops as he blinks in confusion.

“C’mon, Buck,” Steve groans, sitting down on the seat next to Bucky’s and spinning it around so that they are facing each other. “Talk to me. Is it about the others? I told you before, they can take care of themselves. They wouldn’t have helped us otherwise.”

Bucky’s jaw clenches, and Steve watches the fingers of the other’s human hand curl into a loose fist against the top of Bucky’s black-clad knee.

“It’s not important,” Bucky grates, “and it doesn’t matter now, anyway.”

“But it did matter before?” Steve prompts. This time, the look he receives from Bucky is that just short of a glare. It makes Steve feel even more uneasy, but he patiently waits for Bucky to say something.

Bucky is biting the inside if his cheek, looking as if he’s having trouble deciding what to do next. Then he sighs, shaking his head and looking away again.

“I was thinking about yesterday,” he mutters. “When you and Wilson got your stuff back from that… agent.”

Steve raises an eyebrow at the pause in Bucky’s sentence, but Bucky doesn’t acknowledge his unspoken question.

“I didn’t know you were still keeping up appearance like that,” Bucky continues instead, his voice growing frosty. “I thought living in this century meant you wouldn’t have to do that anymore."

Steve frowns. He doesn’t understand what Bucky is talking about. Keeping up appearance? In what way?

“Then again, what do I know?” Bucky continues, before Steve has time to ask the question out loud. “Maybe kissing is just your way of saying ‘thank you’ nowadays…”

 _That_ is when the dots finally connect inside Steve’s head, and he winces, closing his eyes as realization hits.

Sharon. The kiss…

“That wasn't— It’s a bit more complicated than that,” he says slowly, not really knowing what else to say.

“More complicated than the situation we’re currently in?” Bucky counters grimly. His eyes flicker to Steve's face, looking about as cold as his voice sounds, and Steve ducks his head in remorse.

“Alright,” he agrees, “maybe not _that_ complicated…”

Bucky shakes his head as he turns his gaze away once more, and he swallows hard before letting out a snort through his nose.

“I can’t believe you actually kissed her…” he grates.

“It wasn’t like that,” Steve tries.

“I was _there_ , Steve. Remember?” Bucky points out bitterly. “I saw the whole thing, and you. _Kissed._ Her. She didn't start it,   _you_ did.”

“Yes, I did, I know that, but I—” Steve cuts himself off to drag his hands down over his eyes with a groan. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I’m so sorry, Buck, it was a stupid thing to do—”

“You can say that again,” Bucky concurs acridly.

“I can. I _am_ ,” Steve agrees, “and I know you’re upset, but… if you just let me, I’d like to at least _try_ to explain it.”

Bucky glowers at him. He’s worked up, angry, and the hurt is gleaming in his eyes like ice on a lake in late November. Steve meets the look, and when he doesn't falter, Bucky eventually sighs and leans back into his seat with his arms defiantly crossed over his chest.

“Alright,” he says hoarsely. “Go ahead. Explain.”

It is a response that Steve in all honesty expected would require a lot more effort to get. So when it’s given to him, just like that, it's more than just a tad bit worrying. As a consequence, he ends up sitting there in complete silence for almost a full thirty seconds, wondering what the catch is, before he decides to just go for it. This needs to get settled, the sooner the better.

“Ever since I came out of the ice,” he starts warily, “I’ve been alone.” He sends a quick glance Bucky's way, but when Bucky just glares back, Steve lowers his gaze back down and clasps his hands together in between his knees.

“I mean, I was never _alone_ ,” he continues. “There have been people surrounding me since the moment I opened my eyes, but… I don't think I have to explain to _you_ that there’s a difference between being alone and being lonely…”

He swallows, and clears his throat.

“Still, I didn’t _want_ to be with anyone,” he clarifies. “For everyone else, it had been seventy years, but for me… I literally closed my eyes and when I opened them again, every single person I had ever known was gone. Just like that. Most people could sympathise with how that felt, but others— I mean, it’s as if the whole point of grieving nowadays is to prove to others just how fast you’re able to move on. To forget. As if remembering the tragedies of your past is considered a _weakness_.”

He pauses, sighing deeply. Bucky still hasn’t said anything, but Steve knows that he’s listening. He can hear it in the pace of his breathing.

“In fact,” he continues, “I was doing fine on my own. I was… content, in a way. My friends – the few I had managed to make, at least – kept telling me to get myself out there. That I should start dating, but the thought just made me feel uncomfortable. I didn't _want_ to meet anyone. To date, hang out, grow attached… It was something I was convinced would never happen to me again, not after you. Until I met Sharon.”

The sudden sound of Bucky’s boot scraping against the floor makes Steve tense up, but when nothing follows, he returns to the topic with his heart pounding in his chest.

It isn't just because of the fear of Bucky not understanding, or accepting his explanation. It is also because he has never talked about this with anyone, ever. They are things he has kept locked up inside himself for several years, and to open himself up like this is difficult, in more ways than one.

“She was the first person in nearly four years that I even considered having a relationship with,” he confesses. “She was living next door to me for almost six months, and I had seen her from afar plenty of times. When I finally manned up enough to talk to her, she shot me down. When it happened, I was hoping that she just needed some time to get used to the thought of seeing me. Then I found out that the only reason she was even there to begin with, was because she was an agent assigned to watch me and that… killed the mood a little.”

“Did _she_ tell you she was an agent?” Bucky cuts in. His voice sounds detached, as if he's conducting a hearing, and once again, Steve feels the guilt and shame cut into his soul like a razor.

“She sort of had to,” he says, glancing up at Bucky from underneath his eyelashes. “Five minutes after she turned me down, the Winter Soldier shot the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. through the window of my apartment. Keeping up appearance towards me quickly became a minor priority after that.”

The mention of the Winter Soldier sends Bucky's shoulders squaring. Bucky looks away, his jaw setting, and Steve holds his breath as he waits for a response.

“Why are you telling me this?” Bucky mumbles tightly.

“Because I want you to know what happened,” Steve answers. “ _When_ it happened. I’m not keeping any secrets from you, Buck. I never did in the past and I’m not about to start now.”

There is a moment of silence, and Steve can see Bucky's eyes shift as the other registers the meaning behind Steve's words. Then Bucky exhales, slowly, and something in his posture relaxes a little when he appears to reach a conclusion.

“So you live alone for four years,” he begins slowly. “Then you finally get the head out of your ass and notice the pretty girl living down the hall from you, but it still takes you almost another six months before you even talk to her. And that's it? Nothing ever happened between the two of you?”

“Pretty much,” Steve says.

“Why?” Bucky asks bluntly, glaring at him in challenge. “What stopped you?”

Steve shrugs. “Fear?” he suggests, lowering his voice as he continues, more seriously, “Guilt?”

“Of?”

“Forgetting about you.”

Bucky swallows. Steve can see the bob in his throat when Bucky’s eyes flicker to the side, as if Steve’s sudden confession has embarrassed him.

“Maybe you should have,” he grates. “After all, it’s not like your life got any better from having me back in it.”

“Don’t you dare say that,” Steve says sternly, and Bucky looks at him.

“You’re telling me you’d rather have this?” he asks with a mocking gesture towards the interior of the plane, “than being back in DC with your friends, safe and sound?”

“I chose _you_ ,” Steve argues. “If I wanted to return to my old life, I could have brought your unconscious body back to headquarters after I dragged it out of that river in Berlin. I didn’t.”

“Because you’re stupid,” Bucky says with a snort.

“Because without you, whatever life I used to have becomes meaningless,” Steve corrects earnestly.

“You’re a national hero,” Bucky snaps. “Even now, after all this time. You can have whatever life you want.”

“Exactly,” Steve says. “And like I said, I’ve already made my choice.”

Bucky bites the inside of his lip. His chest is rising and falling, as if he’s bracing himself for a physical fight. Then he nods, slowly.

“So why did you kiss her?” he demands, and Steve turns his head back down to look at his hands which are still tightly clasped in his lap.

“Because I _am_ stupid,” he mutters.

“And that’s supposed to be news to me?”

This time, it’s Steve’s turn to glare, but then he blinks, shakes his head and sighs, realizing that Bucky’s pretty much right.

“I got sentimental,” he confesses. “It was a spur of the moment decision, and it was dumb and stupid…” He sends Bucky a glance, “but I still did it. I can’t take it back, even if I wanted to.”

“So you don’t regret it, then.” It’s not a question.

“Bucky—” Steve swallows, closing his eyes while he tries to figure out how to word it right. He knows that he’s going to have to say it, because he won’t be able to explain his actions otherwise, but he’s also terrified of what such a confession might make Bucky think of him.

He doesn’t want Bucky to jump to any conclusions. God knows Steve himself would have done exactly that, had the roles been reversed, but it has to be said. The truth should come from _him_ , no one else, and there is no use trying to sugar coat it. Steve takes a deep breath.

“Bucky…” he says slowly, “Sharon is Peggy’s _niece_.”

He barely has the courage to breathe while he waits for the message to sink in.

“Peggy?”

Steve jerks his head up, staring. Bucky looks confused, as if he’s having trouble understanding what the hell Steve is talking about, and the blank look in his eyes makes Steve feel sick to his stomach with dread.

“Yes,” Steve gapes. “ _Peggy_. Peggy Carter from—” He trails off, and his throat feels dry like sandpaper when he swallows. “Don’t you remember her?"

The crease on Bucky’s brow deepens, and something flickers in the depths of his eyes. Steve can tell that Bucky knows he's being asked about something important – something he _should_ remember – and for a moment, Steve can see the fear layer itself like a mask over Bucky’s features as the realization that he might not be able to takes hold.

“C’mon, Buck,” he whispers. “ _Peggy_ . You knew her, we both did. She _helped_ us, remember?”

“I’m not sure,” Bucky murmurs as his eyes shift to the left. “I think do. I _think_. She— She wore red lipstick. Had brown hair. And a mean right hook,” he adds with an impressed twitch of his eyebrows. He frowns, eyes narrowing, and moves his gaze back towards Steve with a suspicious squint. “You and Peggy…” he says slowly, and then his mouth falls open when the memory finally slots into place. “We’ve had this conversation before…” he whispers.

Steve’s stomach flips. He knows fully well what conversation Bucky is talking about, and the mere memory if it is enough to make him feel nauseous. That night had been one of the few times in the past where Steve had actually feared that Bucky would end up leaving him. To think that they might be seconds away from such an impasse once again, for the same dumb reasons, is more than enough to make him feel helpless beyond reason.

He nods anyway.

“We have,” he agrees hoarsely.

“I was angry with you,” Bucky breathes.

“You were,” Steve whispers, and Bucky turns his head down to stare at the floor.

Steve braces himself, waiting for another argument, another fight. He expects Bucky to ask him about that time, about their discussion regarding Peggy, and how that ties into Steve's relationship with Sharon. He expects Bucky to demand to know Steve’s intentions, to accuse him of lying, of being a cheating bastard, just like he had that time back in London.

Instead, all Steve gets is silence.

Bucky is staring down at his boots. His hair is hanging down, draped around his face and Steve can’t see the look in his eyes.

He holds his breath, waiting. He waits for what feels like forever, until his heart feels like it’s about to get crushed from the surrounding pressure of his own lungs.

“Bucky—”

“Did we work it out?”

Steve snaps his mouth shut. Bucky’s voice is low, his tone short. Businesslike. The sound of it cuts into Steve’s heart, and he closes his eyes with a wince.

“Of course we did,” he says softly. “We always worked things out. Even when it felt as if we’d never be able to.”

He opens his eyes again, just in time to see Bucky nod, almost as if to himself.

“So,” Bucky says slowly, “this Sharon. Does she know that you and Peggy knew each other? That Peggy was… interested?”

“I don’t think so, no,” Steve mumbles. “I can't tell for sure, though. I didn’t find out that she and Peggy were even related until a month ago.”

“So they just happen to have a type that runs in the family then?” Bucky says with another lowering snort, and Steve sighs, leaning his head back against the seat with a thump.

“Bucky, you were _dead_ ,” he pleads. “I mourned you _every single day._ God, if you only knew how much I hated waking up each morning to live a life that didn’t have you in it. You were my reason, Bucky, don't you _see_ that?”

Bucky shifts in his seat, glancing over at him.

“People kept saying I needed to find someone,” Steve carries on. “But how could I possibly bring myself to do that when you were still _there?_ I tried to tell myself that you were never coming back, but I couldn't let you go. And I don’t know,” he says exasperatedly, throwing his hand out to the side, “maybe it was because people kept _expecting_ it from me that I even started to look at Sharon the way I did? Or if I _forced_ myself to do it, I can’t even tell. But I _swear_ to you, I haven’t looked at her as anything but a friend since I found out who she really was. As for what happened yesterday… Maybe it was because I attended Peggy’s funeral and Sharon caught me at my worst—”

“Funeral?” Bucky says sharply, looking up.

“Yes,” Steve confirms. He looks down at his hands, feeling his voice threaten to give out before he even speaks. “Peggy, she— she passed in her sleep.”

For a brief moment, the defensive shade in Bucky’s gaze shifts, giving way for a faint flash of pain.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, before adding, “She was a good person.”

“She was,” Steve agrees. He clears his throat. “What I'm trying to say,” he continues, “is that when I met Sharon at the funeral, I was truly shocked to see her there. I hadn’t met, or even spoken to her for such a long time, and she just— She was the only one I could talk to who actually knew Peggy as a person, you know? So when she asked me out for coffee, I said yes.”

“You went on a date?” Bucky asks.

“We met and talked,” Steve says. “Nothing more. Sure, maybe she hinted that she wouldn't mind sharing something more than friendship in the future, but… I just couldn't take her up on it.”

He clears his throat again.

“Your face showed up on the news that very same day,” he says, “and… whenever I looked at her after that, all I could see was you. And how she, no matter how hard she'd wish for it, would never be able to replace what we had. In a way, I think she knew that… That’s why she agreed to help us. Just like Peggy did.”

“So the kiss back there was what then, exactly?” Bucky asks.

“A goodbye.” Steve raises his head, looking Bucky straight in the eye. “And perhaps an ‘I’m sorry’.”

Bucky seems skeptical, and Steve winces. He reaches out and grabs hold of Bucky’s hand, grasping it hard. “I don’t care what others think about you,” he declares firmly, “or what they think you’ve done. I don’t _care_ if by doing so, I make the entire world my enemy, as long as it keeps you _safe_ . I’ll give up everything, Buck. My home, my life – all of it – but I’ll do it only for you. Not Peggy. Not Sharon. _You_.” He sucks in a shaky breath and exhales hard, squeezing around Bucky’s fingers. “Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you?”

Bucky glances down at Steve’s fingers where they are, curled around his hand. Steve can see his jaw work, can see the bob in his throat when he swallows. Then Bucky snorts out a laugh, shaking his head.

“You know,” he grates, “back in 1939, I never would have thought that one day _I’d_ be the one who’d have to fight off the ladies swarming around _you_.”

The joke is so unexpected, but at the same time so painstakingly much like _Bucky_ , Steve can’t help the astonished laugh that bursts past his lips at the sound of it. As he does, Bucky’s shoulders slump and his posture loosens up as he, too, exhales in a dazed chuckle. The movement triggers a memory inside Steve’s head, and for a moment, Steve can nearly smell the smoke of cigars and hear the buzz of voices rising above piano music where they sit.

So many years, so much pain and suffering separating them, and yet here they are, just like they had been back then. That time, they had been surrounded by people without any sort of sympathy or tolerance towards two men sharing their kind of relationship. Steve had not been able to give Bucky any sort of comfort or affection at that moment, but this time, things are different. This time, they’re alone, and Steve’s body moves out of its own accord as he leans in to pull Bucky into his arms.

Bucky follows with the movement, and allows Steve to wrap his arms around him without a word, but Steve both hears and feels the relieved sigh that whispers against his ear when Bucky relaxes into the hug.

“I love you,” Steve breathes, kissing the side of Bucky’s temple while he brings up his hand to smooth it down the hair at the top of Bucky’s head. “I’ll always love you, and I swear, I’m gonna spend every single day of my life proving it to you. I’ll make it all up to you, Buck, I promise.”

Bucky murmurs something intelligible against the fabric covering Steve’s shoulder, but when Steve pulls back to ask him to repeat it, Bucky moves both of his hands up to fist in the back of Steve’s uniform, keeping him in place.

Steve takes the hint, and slowly, he maneuvers both of them out of the chairs until they can sit on the floor; Steve’s back propped up against the wall and Bucky slumped down on top of him. They end up staying like that, and Steve continues to pet and comb through the long strands of Bucky’s hair while murmuring sweet words of adherence against the top of his head. He does so until he hears Bucky’s breathing even out into a steady rise and fall against his own chest, and once he’s sure that Bucky’s truly and comfortably asleep, he leans his own head back against the wall, and closes his eyes with a sigh.

It has been a very rough week, for both of them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, guys. Please do let me know what you thought of this particular chapter. I'd really like to hear your thoughts on it, and what you think of Steve and Bucky's personas :)
> 
> Thank you again. Take care <3  
> Until next week!


	22. 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been trying to figure out how to get this part of the story into the fic without breaking the timeline I've already set up, because I just needed to get this headcanon of mine in here, somehow XD  
> Hopefully, I managed to work my way around it, but I'll leave that decision up to you ;)  
> Happy reading! ^^

_**July 16th, 1939 — Coney Island** _

 

Steve wobbles down the ramp with one hand firmly clutched around the railing. The world is swimming before his vision, and his stomach feels as if it’s wedged somewhere just beneath his tonsils.

“Woah, that was _great!_ ” Bucky cheers from somewhere behind him, and next thing, Steve receives a hard slap to his back that has him stumbling the final two steps down onto the ground.

“Yeah,” he groans, still with his fingers desperately curled around the banister. “Hilarious…”

He spots a bench a few paces to his left and sets course towards it on weak legs. Flopping down upon the seat, he leans forward with a grateful sigh to rest his head in his hands, closing his eyes just to see if it’ll make the world stop spinning. Behind him, he can hear the rollercoaster grind back into motion, and the excited chatter of the new group of people seated in the carts gets drowned out by the sound of metal scraping against metal. Poor bastards…

“Really?” Bucky says with a chuckle. Steve can see the tip of the other’s dress shoes come into view as he peeks out through the gaps of his fingers. He nods in silent affirmation.

“C’mon, it was just _one_ ride,” Bucky argues, but then his cheerful tone morphs into something sounding a lot more concerned as Steve feels Bucky’s fingers brush against the top of his shoulder. “Is it your asthma? Can you breathe?”

“Yeah, I’m jus—” he cuts himself off, feeling his stomach lurch.

“What?” Bucky asks, a lot more worriedly. “Hey, hey, look at me. You’re not gonna pass out, are you?”

“Actually, I think I’m gonna throw up,” Steve grates. He barely has time to finish the sentence before his stomach makes another nauseous flip, and he braces himself against the bench with one hand. “Yup,” he wheezes, “definitely throwing up.”

There’s an open trash can sitting a mere three feet away from the bench, yet Steve just barely makes it there in time to clutch around the steel edges of the bin and hurl into it with a sickening retch.

“Aw, man…” Steve feels the comforting weight of a hand settle against his back when Bucky begins to rub soothing circles over his shoulder blades. “I'm sorry, buddy. I didn't think it would be that bad.”

Steve makes a feeble gesture with his hand, waving Bucky's apology away. It's not Bucky’s fault that his body isn't capable of handling such a simple thing as a common rollercoaster. There had been _kids_ on that ride, for Christ’s sake!

Glancing up through the tears clouding his vision, he catches sight of a family as they walk past the spot where he's standing, still leaning over the trash can with Bucky’s hand on his back. At the sight of them, the father wrinkles his nose with a repulsed expression, and the mother quickly puts a hand in front of their daughter's eyes to shield her from the scene.

Steve doesn't blame them. To them, he probably looks like some random drunk on a bender gone wrong. Or, standing next to Bucky, possibly an unfortunate kid who’s had one too many corn dogs…

He sees the mother lean down to whisper something into the child’s ear, but then Bucky steps into his line of sight, blocking the view.

“Don't mind them,” Bucky grumbles, shoulders tight while he glares after the family as they disappear down the walkway. Then he turns back around and gives Steve a gentle squeeze to the shoulder. “You know, you didn’t have ride that thing in the first place,” he berates him softly. “I was only teasing when I called you a coward.”

Steve coughs as he slowly straightens back up, wiping across his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket.

“Right,” he groans sarcastically, “because _surely_ you would have allowed me to get away with that.”

“I would have,” Bucky objects with an indignant mutter. “I was just worried you’d run off with some dame while I was gone and leave me stranded.”

“Yeah, right,” Steve snorts.

“Don't sell yourself so short,” Bucky scolds him. “This place is literally crawling with girls looking for dates. You'd be bound to charm at least _one._ ”

“Yeah,” Steve mumbles sourly, “makes sense I’d only be able to do that with you gone. I'm not sure if you've noticed,” he continues, cutting Bucky’s objection off before he even has time to voice it, “but out of the two of us, I'm not usually the one the ladies approach first.”

“Trust me, it's not as much fun as I make it look,” Bucky grumbles, looking over his shoulder as if he’s afraid to find a horde of the aforementioned girls lurking right behind him.

“Guess you're a pretty good actor then,” Steve says. “I'd call you a jerk for it, if I didn't know you'd take it as a compliment.”

“If you say so, _punk,_ ” Bucky humbly complies with a playful jab to Steve's upper arm. “Still,” he says solemnly, “I think you're being too hard on yourself. You've got a lot to offer, you know.”

“Like what, exactly?” Steve asks skeptically.

“Well, for example, I bet that you're a great kisser,” Bucky says with a wide gesture towards Steve's entire being, and Steve promptly snorts out an incredulous laugh in return.

“No offense, but I don't think anyone in their right mind would wanna kiss me right now,” he says, before adding, “Or ever.”

“You're just saying that because you don't wanna admit I'm right,” Bucky says with a confident grin.

“ _Sure,_ ” Steve drawls. “Because I’ve had _so_ much training in that particular department.”

“So you’re saying you think you’re a bad kisser?” Bucky asks, raising a brow.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying,” Steve insists.

“Fine,” Bucky decides, straightening up. “I'll prove it to you myself then.”

“What?” Steve laughs nervously, feeling his stomach swirl when he realizes what those words mean. “ _You’d_ kiss me?” he prompts. “Like, right now?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says with a nonchalant shrug. “Why not?”

“C’mon, that’d be disgusting.”

He realizes the moment the words leave his mouth, that that probably wasn’t the most brilliant thing to say. The confident expression on Bucky’s face melts away as the other quickly averts his gaze to the ground, and Steve swallows, feeling like a first class idiot.  

“You know,” he continues dumbly, “since it would only taste like... puke…” He trails off, and clears his throat with an embarrassed look at his feet. God, he’s such an _idiot._ Bucky was literally talking about _kissing_ him and he had to go and make it _weird!_

He braves a quick glance at Bucky’s face, and swallows again when he finds that Bucky’s gone from looking at the ground to looking at Steve’s own face. He’s worrying his lower lip in between his teeth, as if he’s trying to figure out the solution to a complicated puzzle, and for some reason that look makes Steve’s entire body flush both hot and cold all at the same time.

“You’re right,” Bucky says eventually, and Steve’s stomach makes another nervous lurch when those grey eyes meets with his when Bucky continues, “So how about I buy you a drink first and you can let me prove you wrong later?”

It takes more than just a second for Steve to process exactly what was said, and once that’s done, he finds himself completely incapable to respond.

It’s not as if the thought of kissing Bucky is new. Oh, no, far from it. Kissing him, touching him… those are both thoughts Steve’s been struggling with on a daily basis for the past two years. To have him – have _Bucky –_ all to himself. It’s a fantasy that never grows old, and Steve’s been indulging in daydreams of what it would be like to feel the taste of his best friend on his lips, to have Bucky’s hands on his body, for what feels like forever.

Still, that’s all it’s been. Dreams. Fantasies.

Bucky is Steve’s best friend – his _only_ friend. He can’t risk to lose him over something as primitive as carnal urges, that would be insane! He’d never sink so low as to force his pathetic feelings on him, never in his life!

Besides, what would James Buchanan Barnes want with a loser like Steve anyway, had there even been a possibility? Steve, whose body obviously is too frail to even enjoy an amusement park without falling apart at the seams. There’s no way that Bucky would ever want someone like that, even less a _male_ someone.  

And yet, here they are, and not only did Bucky just tell Steve that he’d be prepared to _kiss_ him, but also that he’d be prepared to do so in _broad daylight._ Which is _insane_ because things _happen_ to men who kiss other men in public. Horrible, horrible things, and Steve can’t believe Bucky just offered to take that risk for his sake.

One doesn’t do that for something as trivial as a bet. Not even for your best friend, as a joke.

Bucky’s eyes are so sincere, his face so open, and it speaks of all the things his mouth doesn’t. It tells Steve that all it takes is a word. One word, and they’ll never speak of this again. One word, and this whole conversation will become another one of their dumb jokes.

Like the time they went skinny dipping down at the harbour, and ended up wrestling each other naked in the water. When Steve had ended up way too hot despite the freezing water, and Bucky had noticed. Or that time Bucky tried to teach Steve how to dance and Steve had to flee into the bathroom when he realized that Bucky’s arm were way too strong and that his neck smelled way too good for Steve to be able to concentrate properly on what his feet were actually doing. Bucky had teased him on both occasions, asking him if being so close to him made Steve nervous – if he planned on doing that with everyone, or if Bucky was the only one who had that effect on him. He hadn’t laughed when he said it. He had been looking at Steve just as he’s looking at him now, and finally, _finally_ , Steve understands what that look means.

It’s all up to him. Steve is the one who gets to decide, and if Steve asks it of him, Bucky will back down and let this conversation join the others in the vast collection of what Steve now realizes are moments that could have been.

It’s a look that assures him that whatever he picks, Bucky will accept it, but it also begs for him to please, please not go down that road, because this _matters_ . It _matters_ because Bucky doesn’t want this to be a joke. Doesn’t want this to be something as crude as a simple dare, and Steve barely registers that he’s spoken before the response has already left his mouth in a dazed whisper.

“Sure.”

Bucky's face drops, and he stares back at him, blinking dumbly. Then the corner of his lip twitches up into half a smile before dipping back down just as fast. For a moment, he looks both overjoyed and absolutely terrified all at the same time.

“Sure,” he repeats, almost as if tasting the word. Steve holds his breath, and slowly, Bucky straightens up. He holds Steve’s gaze for another few seconds, as if making sure that he got the situation right, and then he cocks his head in the direction of the park’s entrance. “C’mon then,” he urges softly. “Let’s go.”

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

 _Macy’s_ is the local watering hole closest to Steve’s apartment. It’s named after the owner’s dog; an old, scruffy thing that probably passed as a decent border collie once, back in the day.

When Steve and Bucky enters, Macy is lying in her usual spot by the bar. She raises her head and gives the air a little sniff when they walk past her, and then lies her head back down and falls asleep again.

Bucky orders the two of them a bourbon each, and Steve promptly downs his in a single go. Right now, he’d rather smell of booze than puke. Besides, he’s going to need a little something in order to ground himself properly. As the liquid slides down his throat to settle like a warming burn inside his stomach, however, he realizes that he’s probably going to need the entire bottle to get his nerves back under control.

As if on cue, Bucky orders him another drink without a word the very moment Steve sets his glass back down, and once the second drink has been poured, he leads the way towards one of the tables near the back of the bar.

It’s still early, and the patrons inside the establishment are few. Steve nurses his drink and alters between glancing out the window and staring down at the table top while Bucky sits in silence on the other side. None of them speak. Sometimes, their gazes accidentally meet when either of them throws a quick, guarded glance at the other from their respective seat, but whenever that happens, they both look away just as fast.

Steve can’t help but feel as if this suddenly turned into the most awkward date he’s even been on. God, is that what’s happening here? Are they on a _date?_

Of course, they’ve gone out together before, just like today. They’re _friends_. Friends do things together, that’s not strange. Friends go to the movies together, goes to fairs together… ride rollercoasters together, even though one of them secretly doesn’t really want to…  

Damnit, they’re on a date. They’ve been going on dates for ages, and Steve never realized, oh, dear Jesus…

Steve fidgets with his drink, continuously turning it over in his hands. Meanwhile, Bucky is sitting completely still, eyes intently fixed on the way Steve’s fingers tap against the glass. He seems lost in thought, and Steve is itching to ask him what he’s thinking about, even though he’s half hoping, half dreading the answer.

He wants to ask if Bucky really is serious about the kiss. Wants to ask him if he’s ever thought about kissing Steve before. Wants to know if Bucky is as nervous about this whole situation as Steve, just to make sure.

Kissing Bucky. Christ, how many times has Steve thought about that? How many times has he woken up in the dead of night with the the phantom feeling of Bucky’s lips on his? Too many to count, surely.

A cruel voice in the back of his head tells him that it’s just a misunderstanding. A joke gone wrong. That Bucky’s not _actually_ planning on kissing him, that he never meant the things he said and that Steve’s imagining the whole thing. But, another voice points out soberly, then how come during the entire streetcar ride back, Bucky – who’s normally such a talker – hadn’t said a single word? If Bucky isn’t nervous, then why won’t he meet Steve’s gaze? And most importantly, if Bucky really is genuinely repulsed by the thought of going through with this whole thing, then how come he’s still here?

The questions seems like they have no end, and Steve comes to the conclusion that he should just stop thinking about them entirely. That no good will come from doing so.

He glances at Bucky’s glass, but it’s practically untouched. Steve’s own glass looks very similar. After about thirty minutes, both of them still have about half of their drinks left. Time moves excruciatingly slow, and yet, when they finally get up to leave, it still feels like much too soon.

There’s still liquor left in both their glasses as the front door closes behind them. By the bar, Macy lifts her head to sniff the air, and then goes back to sleep once more.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

Steve’s hand is trembling when he turns the key to his apartment. The lock clicks, and Steve pulls the key out, opening the door.

There’s a moment of awkward silence where they both remain standing outside, face to face, without moving. Bucky looks at the doorway, and then back at Steve. Then, warily, as if he’s expecting Steve to try and stop him, he takes a slow step over the threshold and into the apartment.

Steve exhales, not even aware that he had been holding his breath as he follows suit, and he turns to lock the door behind them both in silence. His heart is pounding against his ribcage so hard it should be visible right through his shirt, and his hand is still shaking when he hangs the key up on its spot next to the door.

When he turns back around to head further into the room, he nearly walks straight into the width of Bucky’s shirt-clad chest. Avoiding the impending collision with a mere inch to spare, Steve tries to keep his cool, but the unexpected proximity still makes his knees feel weak. He could have sworn that Bucky had gone further inside just a moment ago. When did he get so _close?_  

Looking up, he’s met with a pair of grey eyes, regarding him in silence from less than a foot away. Bucky’s face is unreadable, and Steve swallows hard, bracing himself before straightening up and squaring his shoulders.

Bucky looks at him, takes in his defensive stance and the challenging expression on his face. Something flickers in his eyes – a mix between marvel, disbelief and something akin to surrender – and then he moves.

Cupping Steve’s face with both hands, he lowers his mouth over Steve’s own, and Steve sucks in a startled breath through his nose when Bucky begins to push him backwards. Steve’s back hits the door behind him with low thud as his palms flatten against the wooden barrier, and when Bucky proceeds to slowly lick into his mouth, Steve’s fingers curl against the furnished surface with a faint scraping of nails.

Bucky’s tongue brushes against his, just for a second, and the sensation sends a shock of exhilaration spiraling through Steve’s insides. He barely has time to register it, though, before Bucky’s pulling back again, and Steve makes a low noise of objection in the back of his throat when the kiss ends.

He opens his eyes (when did he even close them?) and stares up at his best friend. Bucky’s chest is rising and falling, his pupils are dilated to the point where it nearly blacks out the color of his eyes, and there’s a faint tremble to his limbs that Steve can feel through the hands pressing in against his jaw. Gaze dropping to Steve’s mouth, Bucky then moves his thumb to tenderly brush it against Steve’s lower lip.

“Your move…” he breathes. His voice is raw and husky, and honestly, the sound of it is all the motivation Steve needs. With a groan, he throws both of his arms around Bucky’s neck, pulling him down to crush their lips together. He doesn’t care that the force makes their teeth clash, or that their mouths end up slightly off angle, because those are all just trivial things in the comparison to the fact that they’re _kissing._

It’s different now, though. The slow and tentative pace from before has suddenly turned fast and needy, and Bucky doesn’t seem to disapprove. Steve gasps when Bucky deepens the kiss even further, and a vicious tremble runs through his limbs when he feels Bucky’s fingers skate along the sensitive skin of his neck.

Steve doesn’t know what to do with his own hands, because there’s just so much of Bucky that he wants to touch, all at once. He lets them roam over Bucky’s chest, his abs, up around to his lower back, and he grunts in annoyance at the thick material of Bucky’s suit jacket that gets in the way when he attempts to go up even further. He grabs hold of it and tugs, and Bucky takes the hint. Without breaking the kiss, he lets go of Steve’s face to shrug the offensive garment off, dropping it to the floor without a moment of hesitation before reaching for Steve again.

Steve feels one of Bucky’s hands wrap around his shoulder while the other comes around to pull him in by the waist until he’s pressed flush against Bucky’s chest. Bucky is towering over him, the mere size of him nearly overwhelming, and yet, Steve can’t get enough of him.

Catching Bucky’s lips once more, Steve pushes even closer, and that one action is apparently enough to make Bucky lose whatever self restraint he has left. With a growl, he shoves Steve back against the flat surface of the door, using the momentum to wedge his knee in between Steve’s already parted thighs.

The friction is marvellous, verging on scary, but Steve rolls his hips against it nonetheless. He can’t help it, and the moan he lets out in return makes Bucky’s breath hitch so hard, Steve can nearly feel it inside his own chest.

They move together; Steve rocking down and Bucky pushing up, breath hot against their lips, but it’s not enough. Steve wants Bucky _closer_ , wants him under his very _skin_ , and the desire that pools in his gut at the thought of Bucky’s hands on his body makes his blood run hot like fire inside his veins.

Somehow, he manages to find the silk of Bucky’s tie, and he pulls it, using it as a leash to make Bucky come even closer, to move faster. It appears to work well enough, and if the groan rising out of Bucky’s throat is of any indication, the other doesn’t seem to mind the bossy treatment. Which, needless to say, is more than just a little bit exciting.

Steve gives the tie another hard yank, and this time, Bucky actually _growls_ in response. Then, suddenly, both of Bucky’s hands leave Steve’s body, and for a moment, a spark of fear chills the heat that’s been building inside Steve’s gut. The ice, however, melts away just as fast when Bucky reaches down to take a firm hold around the back of his thighs instead, and Steve yelps in surprise as Bucky proceeds to hoist him up, using the new grip as leverage. His surprised noise morphs into a dirty groan when the air is temporarily shoved out of his lungs as Bucky proceeds to crowd him against the door, growling into the kiss with an urgency that rattles Steve to the very bone.

For the first time, he’s actually grateful for the fact that he doesn’t weigh more than he actually does.

Steve knows that he's obviously and painfully hard, but he can’t gather enough of his remaining coherency to even be embarrassed about it. He is horribly aware of the fact that Bucky is in a similar state, however, and the knowledge that the hardness pressing in against the back of his thigh isn’t just a standard belt buckle makes it hard to even breathe properly.

He can’t really move, should he even try, because Bucky’s got him pinned against the door so tight he barely has enough space to pull away from the kiss to catch his breath. Deciding that the only option he has is to simply hang on, he wraps both of his legs around Bucky’s waist, and oh, _oh_ , that actually made it even better, Jesus—

Bucky groans, and Steve feels Bucky’s fingers twitch against his thighs when the other begins to grind his hips up even harder. There’s a pause, and then Bucky drops Steve down, just a little, and just like that, the angle becomes perfect.

The sound Bucky makes when they slot up against each other through their clothes is more breathtaking than Steve could have ever imagined it. No fantasy or nocturnal dream could ever have prepared him for such a sound, and Steve wants to hear it again – _craves_ it in the same way he craves oxygen inside his lungs.

The pace is hurried, frantic and, oh, so hot. There's a continuous stream of noises falling from Bucky's mouth as they continue to rut against each other, vibrating in the back of his throat, and Steve wishes that he could save every single one of them.

He has no idea how long it’s been since they stopped kissing, but he doesn’t care. Bucky’s breath is still hot on his lips, the thrusts of his hips more than enough to send the pleasure racing through Steve’s system, and God, this is insane, it’s so insane…!

Squeezing his legs tighter around Bucky’s body, he tries to roll his pelvis down, and instantly, Bucky drops his head down against his shoulder with a startled gasp. His lips find Steve’s pulse, his tongue licking across his throat, and the sensation is so new and unexpected it makes Steve tip his head back with an embarrassingly loud moan.

“Bucky…” he gasps, his hips twitching out of their own accord, and Bucky answers with a humm and a light scrape of teeth across Steve’s skin that renders him a shaking mess in Bucky’s arms.

“You there…?” Bucky pants, hips stuttering as he lets out a keening whimper against the side of Steve’s neck. “God, Stevie, please, tell me you’re there…”

The unbridled desperation in his voice lights a fervent spark in the pit of Steve’s stomach, and he clutches harder around Bucky’s neck, struggling to find the right pace when he understands what the other is asking.

“Almost,” he whines. “Almost…”

“Shit…”

Bucky grinds up harder, grunting, and Steve feels as if his entire body is going to either snap in half or go up in flames at any second.

“Don’t stop,” he pleads, fisting the back of Bucky’s shirt. “Please, Buck, don’t stop, don’t stop…”

Bucky shakes his head with another strangled noise that winds itself down Steve’s spine with an ardent shiver, and Steve’s so close he can taste it in the back of his throat. Yet, there is still something missing. Something else that he needs.

“Look at me,” Steve pants, leaning back as far as he can in order to catch a glimpse of Bucky’s face, but Bucky just shakes his head again, harder than before.

“I can’t,” he whimpers. “I can’t, not yet, I—”

“Please,” Steve begs. “Please, I need to see you. I wanna _see_ you…”

Without waiting for an answer, Steve moves his right hand up to curl his fingers amongst the hair at the back of Bucky’s head, pulling at it. He doesn’t pull hard, but Bucky must have been able to feel his urgency, because he allows Steve’s grip to guide his head back nonetheless. As his gaze locks onto Steve’s own, Bucky’s eyes widen and his mouth falls open in a choked out gasp.

“Oh, my God…” he breathes. “Oh, Jesus Christ, Steve…!”

“Yes,” Steve pants, nodding eagerly. “Yes, that’s it. C’mon, Buck. Oh, God yes, _yes._ ”

The back of his head hits the door with a loud thud when the white noise finally takes him over. It rushes up his spine, locking up his limbs, and the last thing he sees before his eyes flutter shut is the dazed look of euphoric awe in Bucky’s eyes.

He hears Bucky gasp, and then he feels the hot beat of breath against his skin when Bucky once again buries his face against the crook of his neck with a racious groan. He savours the sensation of Bucky’s fingers as they dig into the muscles of his thighs when the other man thrusts up, once, twice, and then goes rigid against him.

The vibration that goes through the wood of the door when Bucky slams his left hand up against it for support makes Steve’s toes curl inside his shoes, and when Bucky comes, he does so with a pleasured whimper and something that sounds like a sob of unrestrained relief. The noise twists its way down through Steve’s gut with such an intensity it makes the air lock up inside his chest so hard it nearly feels like a second orgasm.

Bucky’s chest is heaving as he slumps against the door, trapping Steve against it. Steve isn’t sure if the pounding he feels against his chest is the one caused by Bucky’s heart or his own, but at the moment, he doesn’t feel as if that matters much.

Slowly, Bucky drops him back down. Steve’s grateful for the fact that Bucky’s body is still leaning so heavily against his, because when Steve’s feet hit the floor, he’s convinced that his legs would not have been able to carry the weight of his own body, should he even have tried to make them.

He feels dizzier than he did coming off the Cyclone back at the amusement park, which should be an impossibility, really.

Glancing up, he sees that Bucky is still leaning over him, eyes closed, mouth open, trying to catch his breath, and just like that, it hits Steve what exactly they just did, and oh, dear lord, oh, Jesus Christ—

Suddenly, his chest feels too tight, his throat closing in on itself, and he can’t breathe, there’s not enough air, and Lord help him, he can’t _breathe_.

“Hey?” Bucky’s voice sounds from above him, and when Steve looks up, he finds that Bucky’s taken a step back and is now watching him with a concerned frown.

“You okay?” Bucky asks, still sounding a bit breathless, and Steve shakes his head.

“I think— I think I need my—” He makes a vague gesture towards his throat while groping for the Tedral box in his back pocket, and Bucky realizes the situation without a second’s delay. He pushes back from the door, giving Steve space, and Steve somehow manages to get his shaking hands to fish the box out and open it without dropping it all to the floor.

He pops a pill into his mouth and settles it underneath his tongue, and waits, and he can feel Bucky’s eyes on him while the pill slowly begins to dissolve inside his mouth. It’s distracting, and it makes it take longer than normal for his muscles to relax around his windpipe, but he gets there, eventually.

Once his lungs no longer feels like they’re the size of peanuts, he fills them with a deep, shuddering breath, and then slowly exhales again.

“Better?” Bucky asks, canting his head down in order to look at him, and Steve nods.

“Yeah,” he gulps. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Bucky prompts.

“Yeah.” Steve nods again. “I just needed to—”

“I love you.”

Steve freezes. There’s a spot inside his chest that suddenly feels burning hot and freezing cold at the same time. The sensation sends slow, paralyzing pulses through his body, but somehow, Steve still manages to tilt his head up far enough to look at Bucky’s face.

Bucky’s throat bobs as he swallows. He looks nervous. Stoic, yet terrified, and Steve realizes that this isn’t some sort of joke or noble way to save the situation. That Bucky’s being every single bit sincere about this.

“I… I love you too,” he stutters, and Bucky’s brow instantly furrows.

“You do?” he asks, dubiously.

“Well—” Now it’s Steve’s turn to frown. “Yeah.”

“Because I—” Bucky cuts himself off and swallows, hard, before continuing, “I mean… I love you, as in… _love you_ . You know, like, _love._ ”

“I know,” Steve says, nodding. “I mean that too.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” Steve insists.

Bucky licks his lips. He looks confused, as if Steve’s response isn’t at all what he had been expecting. How Bucky couldn’t have seen that coming, though, is something Steve can’t understand for the life of him. After what they just did, with the current state of their clothes and underwear, some sort of mutual attraction would seem like both an obvious and unavoidable fact.

Bucky swallows again. He leans forward, and then hesitates for a split second, before following the motion through, and presses his lips against Steve’s once more. The kiss is shy and timid, but no less passionate than the kisses they shared mere minutes ago, and Steve melts into it with a soft sigh.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you for ages,” Bucky confesses in a murmur against the seam of Steve’s lips. “I didn’t think—”

“Me too,” Steve says, nodding, cutting Bucky off by kissing him back. He doesn’t want to linger on the time they’ve lost right now. Right now, he wants to keep kissing Bucky until he has to take another dose of his meds, because this is heaven, right here in his arms, and he never wants to let it go.

“Stay tonight,” he whispers. “Don’t leave.”

Bucky nods, and answers by kissing Steve back even more enthusiastically. But then, suddenly, he lets out a huff of laughter against Steve’s mouth, making Steve pull back with a confused frown. Bucky catches his berating look and laughs again with a shake of his head.

“So,” he says in between the chuckles. “Since my kiss ended up literally taking your breath away, does that mean I win the bet?”

Steve blinks, and then closes his eyes with a sigh of resignation.

“You’re unbelievable,” he grumbles, trying not to smile when he feels Bucky bump his nose against the side of his cheek.

“I know,” Bucky drawls, and Steve shudders when he feels Bucky circle his hands around his waist. “So?” Bucky purrs, right next to Steve’s _ear,_ the _bastard,_ “apart from a boyfriend, what’s my price?” Then he suddenly pulls back, and Steve opens his eyes to look up at Bucky’s suddenly worried face.

“I mean, unless that’s moving too fast?” Bucky clarifies. “Using the term boyfriends, I mean.”

He looks so concerned, Steve can’t help the snort of laughter that blubbers past his lips, which in turn only causes Bucky to look even _more_ scandalized, which, quite frankly is just about the most adorable thing Steve has ever seen.

“It’s not too fast,” Steve assures him with a smile, and Bucky’s posture immediately loses some of its tension. “As for your price,” Steve continues while pinching at his own slacks with a slight grimace, “How about a shower? I don’t know about you, but this is starting to get really uncomfortable. Not to mention crusty.”

At that, Bucky tips his head back and laughs, before leaning back down to press another sweet kiss to Steve’s mouth.

“Agreed,” he murmurs softly.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

_“Approaching destination. Automatic landing scheduled in T minus ten minutes.”_

Steve snaps his eyes open when the electronic voice comes sounding from the plane’s interior speakers. It takes him a few seconds to recognize his surroundings and remember where he is, but once he does, he relaxes once more.

Bucky is lying with his head in Steve’s lap. Steve assumes that the other must have deliberately placed himself there after Steve fell asleep, because Steve can’t remember him having done so. The thought brings a smile to slowly spread across his lips, and when he turns his head down, he finds Bucky already awake and looking back up at him.

“Hey,” Steve murmurs softly, smiling wider. “Remember Coney Island?”

“Yeah,” Bucky responds simply. He closes his eyes again, and then his lips curl into a pleased little smirk. “Remember the scratch marks you left on the front door?”

“Shut up,” Steve chuckles as he leans down to press an affectionate, tender kiss against Bucky’s forehead before muttering, “The scratch marks were totally your fault.”

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter ^^  
> Let me know what you thought of it, okay? I'm very curious <3  
> Until next Thursday! <3


	23. 23

_**June 22nd, 2016** _

 

Steve steps out onto the balcony and takes a deep, energizing breath out of the cool Wakandan night air, closing his eyes.

The evening is tranquil, even though the surrounding vegetation of the Wakandan Prince’s secret hideout is buzzing with sounds, courtesy of the local animal life. Cicadas play amongst the leaves, and despite the fact that the sun has already set, there are still birds singing as they soar through the dusk of the sky above.

It's their first night here. They arrived along with T’challa at around noon, and T’challa then left both Steve and Bucky in the capable hands of his personnel before travelling back to civilization, bringing Zemo with him.

It feels almost surreal to be back. Steve has showered, had a hot meal, and even slept a few hours on the bed amongst clean, fresh sheets. And still, he is restless. His skin is itching with agitation as he gazes out over the tropical scenery outside, and he nervously shifts his weight from one foot to the other.  

He wonders how Bucky is doing.

Last thing he heard, Bucky was being taken into surgery. Or into workshop, whichever name is most suitable. According to the people T’challa referred Steve to upon arrival, they are working on removing the rest of Bucky’s torn arm, while simultaneously trying to save whatever they can in order to – if all goes well – make him a new one, later.

Steve’s not entirely sure that Bucky wants a new arm, however. On the way back, when T’challa had assured them the arm could be replaced, Bucky had barely made a comment on the offer. He had just been… distant. Not that Steve blames him. After the things that had gone down back in the bunker, he was bound not to be in the mood for talking. After finding out what he did… And after what Tony had done, as a result…  

Steve doesn’t blame Tony. Not entirely, at least. Does he understand why Tony acted the way he did? Yes, absolutely, he understands that with every aching fibre of his heart. Does he agree with it? No. He does not. It may be a biased opinion, but it’s still the truth. Not that it matters…

He has no idea what’s going to happen now. Before they took him to get examined, Bucky was talking about going back into cryo sleep again. Steve doesn’t want that. If there’s one thing he doesn’t want for him, it’s for Bucky to go back into being nothing more than a piece of frozen flesh and bones. He has no idea if Bucky was serious about it, or just mentioning it as an option, should the others _want_ him to go back under, but Steve sure as hell does not.

He wants Bucky here, with him, like in the good old days. When they lived together back in Brooklyn, just the two of them. When Steve could open his eyes in the morning and find Bucky, sound asleep, right in front of him, less than an arm’s reach away.

Oh, he misses it, now perhaps more than ever. He wants things to go back to normal again, or at least as normal as they can be. Just thinking about it – the two of them together, sharing a living space, being able to actually _live_ together in a way they could only dream of in the past. Of course, it’s not all about being able to have the love of his life close to him again… He’s thoroughly convinced that Bucky would benefit mentally from staying awake as well, but he also knows that in the end, it's not his decision to make.

Things were just so much easier before. Back in Steve’s rundown apartment. Or Bucky’s, for that matter. After that fateful day at Coney Island…

Steve smiles in spite of himself as he leans against the railing of the balcony. Man, those first weeks had been so awkward. Trying to figure out what was okay and what wasn’t. Learning the things that were good and the things that were… well, even better than good.

The kissing. Oh, the kissing alone had been amazing. And Bucky’s hands… God, he can still remember the way those hands had held onto him during their first time together, and the memory causes a simultaneous twinge of joy and sorrow to pierce through his chest.

Bucky had been so concerned for him. Sure, Steve’s body hadn’t exactly been the most durable one at the time, but still, it wasn’t as if sex would make it _break._

Luckily for them both, even Bucky seemed to get the hang of that, after a while…

 

/\/\/\/\/\

 

**August 5th, 1939 — Brooklyn**

 

Steve drags his teeth against Bucky’s lower lip, and feels the other man’s fingers twitch against his lower back when Bucky gasps in response. Bucky’s eyes are closed, and Steve can see the sharp angles of his face in the faint light sifting in through the blinds of the window. It’s late, and they went to bed to sleep almost an hour ago. Needless to say, sleeping has not gone well.

Steve grinds himself against Bucky’s body, groaning impatiently. They’ve been making out for ages, and Bucky still hasn’t even touched him yet. They’re both hard, and Steve can feel the tip of Bucky’s erection rub moisture against his stomach in silent confirmation of how much Bucky is currently enjoying himself. The exhilaration it causes makes it difficult for Steve to decide what he wants most at the moment; to touch, or be touched.

“Bucky,” he half moans, half breathes into the kiss. “Buck, c’mon already…”

Bucky pulls away from the kiss and looks at him, grinning a little lopsided in the dark.

“You’re not having fun?” he asks cheekily, and Steve resists the urge to give him a light smack across the back of the head for his insolence.

“I can think of something _more_ fun, if that’s what you mean,” he says instead, which makes Bucky bite down on his own lower lip while he regards Steve slyly from across the pillow.

“Watcha wanna do then?” he purrs. “Want me to keep kissing you?” He underlines the question with a kiss against Steve’s jawline, “All.” Another kiss. “Over?”

Steve barely manages to suppress a shudder when Bucky’s lips drag down the length of his neck to underline the question, and he chuckles under his breath.

“Actually,” he groans, “I was thinking… Maybe we could do that other thing tonight?”

Bucky stiffens, and Steve holds his breath.

“The thing we talked about the other day?” Bucky mouths against Steve’s collarbone. Steve nods.

“Yeah. That one.”

Slowly, Bucky sits up on the bed, and Steve mourns the loss when the soft warmth of Bucky’s hands leave his body.

“I’ve got the stuff,” he explains hopefully. He sits up and turns on the light on the bedside table, feeling his pulse pick up speed beneath Bucky’s suddenly scrutinizing gaze. “From the pharmacy, like we said.”

“Oh.” That’s the only sound Bucky makes, and Steve’s heart sinks.

“Oh, what?” he asks anxiously, feeling his stomach tie itself into a nervous knot as Bucky looks down at the sheets in between them.

“I just— I didn’t realize you’d want to do it so soon,” Bucky mumbles, and Steve frowns.

“You don’t?” he asks. He probably sounds a lot more hurt than he intended, because Bucky immediately looks back up, eyes wide.

“No,” he objects, “No, I do. Like, I _really_ do,” he adds reassuringly.

“Then what’s the problem?”

Bucky sighs and drags his finger back through his hair, shoulders slumping.

“I’m just— I’m not so sure about this, Steve,” he confesses. “It doesn’t sound very… pleasant.”

“C’mon, Buck,” Steve whines. “Of course it is. Why else would others do it?”

“How do you know?” Bucky retorts stubbornly. “I’ve heard people talk too, but have you ever met anyone who’s actually _done it_ , first hand?”

“You know I haven’t,” Steve argues. “But I’ve heard plenty of guys talk about how they’ve done it with their girlfriends. Haven’t you?”

Bucky licks his lips, and then nods.

“Yeah, I have,” he admits, before continuing, more insistently, “but that’s just tough guy talk. I don’t think they’re all telling the truth.” He pauses, looking at Steve with a close to painful expression on his face. “I mean, what if you get hurt?”

“We’ll stop long before that happens,” Steve promises. “Besides, we’ve done it with fingers already, right? We’ve already realised what hurts and what doesn’t.”

“It’s not gonna be like fingers, Steve,” Bucky points out, and Steve groans, rolling his eyes.

“You don’t think I’ve figured that part out already?” he asks impatiently.

“Then what if you don’t like it?” Bucky counters, making Steve frown and snort out a confused laugh.

“Of course I’ll _like_ it,” he says, adding a slight purr to his voice as he adds, “You _know_ I like it.”

“Yeah, but—” Bucky cuts himself off, nervously licking across his lip again. “What if you don’t like it… with me?” he ends lamely, and Steve just sits there, blinking.

For a moment, the room falls completely silent as Steve stares at the other man, and Bucky – confident, manly, _brave_ Bucky – suddenly looks as if he wants to sink right through the floor.

“ _That’s_ what you’re worried about?” Steve finally manages, but this time, Bucky doesn’t answer. He just hangs his head down and hides his face in his hands with a shaky sigh that makes Steve’s heart break.

“Hey,” Steve says softly as he quickly reaches out to wrap his arms around Bucky’s shoulders, pulling him closer. “Hey, look at me.” He puts his hand against Bucky’s cheek, and tilts his face back up far enough to kiss his lips. It takes a few ticks, and then slowly, Bucky relaxes against him and kisses back.

“I want this,” Steve whispers, pulling away just far enough to look Bucky in the eye as he speaks. “With you. Isn’t that what you want as well?”

“Of course it is,” Bucky breathes, and Steve nods encouragingly.

“Then everything will be fine,” he promises, and when Bucky still looks doubtful, he adds, “I won’t let you hurt me, Buck.”

Bucky hesitates, and then nods while closing his eyes with a deep sigh.

“Alright,” he grates. “You’re right, I’m— I’d never let myself hurt you either, it's just—” He sighs, swallowing hard before looking up at Steve again. “Promise you'll talk to me,” he begs. “Will you do that?”

“Of course,” Steve says, but Bucky's not done.

“Promise you’ll tell me if it hurts,” he insists, sitting up taller in Steve's arms.

“Bucky—”

_“Promise.”_

Steve looks at Bucky, taking in the serious expression on his face and the sincere glint in his eyes, and then he nods.

“I promise,” he says softly, and at last, Bucky seems to relax. Pulling at his neck a little, Steve urges Bucky to kiss him again, and he makes sure to pour every single ounce of want and desire into the kiss as he can, just to prove a point. It seems to do the trick as it causes Bucky's breath to hitch in his throat when Steve slips his tongue inside his mouth, and when they finally pull apart, the look Bucky gives Steve is near cross eyed.

“So,” Bucky says with a slight croak to his voice, “where'd you put it?”

“In the drawer,” Steve murmurs, and Bucky nods. He untangles himself from Steve's embrace with a lingering touch to Steve's shoulder, and then he crawls across the mattress to pull the bedside drawer open. Reaching inside, he grabs the brand new jar of vaseline that Steve bought them, and pops the lid.

“Alright,” he breathes, almost to himself as he looks down at the content of the jar, before glancing back at Steve over his shoulder. Then he lies back down onto the bed and gestures for Steve to come closer.

“Straddle me,” he says softly, and Steve obediently does as he’s told. As he settles down across Bucky’s stomach, he shivers when he feels the tip of Bucky’s erection brush up against his backside. He leans forward, and Bucky uses his free hand to pull him even higher by the knee.

Steve watches with a slight stutter to his breathing as Bucky then puts the fingers of his right hand into the vaseline jar to get them thoroughly coated, before pulling them back out to reach around the frame of Steve's body.

“You ready?” Bucky whispers softly, and Steve nods. “Remember to talk to me,” Bucky prompts, and Steve nods again, closing his eyes.

He feels a shiver quake through his limbs when Bucky pushes in against his entrance, and Steve quickly wills himself to relax. This part they have already done, several times, and Bucky’s lone finger slides in without much resistance. A second finger moves in to join closely after, and Steve’s breathing picks up.

“Okay?” Bucky asks hoarsely, pausing.

“Yeah,” Steve pants. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

He moans when the second fingers breaches him, and then he just focuses on keeping his breathing even while Bucky slowly begins the work of opening him up. It takes time, they’re both aware of that, and soon Steve’s sweating where he is, propped up on all fours over Bucky’s body while Bucky moves in and out of him in lazy slides.

When Bucky beings to work a third digit inside, Steve buries a gasp against Bucky’s shoulder, clinging to him. It’s tight, and the tension is making him feel light headed, but he still wants more. Bucky’s fingers are like magic – they’ve already established that, on several occasions – and Steve can’t wait to feel if the rest of him will be the same.

Glancing down in between their bodies, he can see Bucky’s hand move, and he quickly closes his eyes as the sight makes him quake violently all over.

“Is it enough?” he grates.

“I don’t know,” Bucky confesses. “Does it feel like enough?”

“Don’t know,” Steve grits back. He shudders again, pressing his forehead down against Bucky’s shoulder with a low whine. “Just hurry.”

“Alright,” Bucky whispers. “Alright, hold on.”

Steve moans, feeling the fingers scissor him open even further.

“Hurry,” he breathes. “Oh, Buck, please, hurry…”

Bucky grunts out a reply that Steve can’t really decipher, and soon after, Bucky’s fingers leave him as Bucky pulls out. Steve clenches down around the empty space inside him, whimpering at the loss.

Bucky pushes against his shoulder, and Steve moves aside when the other slowly rises to get up. Steve then watches as Bucky walks over to the sink to wash his hands off, and how he then towels himself dry before returning to lie back down on the bed next to Steve once more, bringing the towel with him.

He looks nervous, but both of his hands are steady as he reaches to scoop up some more of the vaseline from the jar. Setting the jar aside, Bucky then uses the vaseline to slicken himself up, biting back a hiss behind his teeth as he does so.

It’s obvious that Bucky’s excited, and watching him touch himself makes Steve twitch below the waistline. Bucky notices – of course he does – and Steve sees some of the hesitation drain away from his face when Bucky lets out a low groan, gripping himself tighter at the sight of it.

“God, I want you so much,” Bucky breathes, looking Steve up and down. Steve just nods, can’t bring himself to do anything else.

“I want to ride you,” he whispers, and Bucky licks his lips with an eager hum. Steve takes it as a yes, and while Bucky uses the towel to clean his fingers off for a second time, Steve straddles Bucky’s hips, reaching down to help guide the other’s erection in place. It takes a bit of adjustment, but eventually he gets the angle right, and when he finally begins to lower himself down, Bucky takes a deep, startled breath.

“Oh,” he whimpers, closing his eyes and clasping at the sheets with both hands. “Oh, God, that’s tight. Oh, Jesus Christ…”

Steve doesn’t answer. He’s too busy trying to breathe as he lets his body sink down even further, allowing the length of Bucky’s cock to fill him up. Bucky feels a lot bigger than what he had been expecting, and he’s suddenly very happy that Bucky took the extra time to open him up, because his fingers had been _nothing_ compared to this.

He hears Bucky curse under his breath from beneath him, and when he looks again, he sees that Bucky has thrown one of his arms over his face to cover his eyes, as if watching Steve do this is more than his self control can handle. His chest is rising and falling in deep intakes of air, and he looks so absolutely gorgeous that Steve for a moment completely forgets how to breathe.

“Bucky,” he moans, barely resisting the urge to roll his hips down as he feels himself bottoming out. “Bucky, you can move now.”

Bucky shakes his head while keeping his eyes tightly shut beneath the protective shield of his arm.

“No,” he gulps, gritting his teeth. “No, if I move— Fuck, Stevie, I don’t know if I can do this…”

“Yes, you can,” Steve promises. He is shaking now, the tension in his own muscles coiling tight throughout his body. “It’s okay, I promise.”

“You’re so tight,” Bucky whimpers. “My God, I can feel your heartbeat…”

Steve doesn’t know why, but for some reason, those last five words sends his insides into a quivering fit of excitement, and Bucky gives a strangled groan of discomfort when Steve’s muscles involuntarily clenches down around him.

“Shit…!” he gasps, wringing the sheets in his hand. “Oh, God, stop…! Steve, you’ve gotta—”

“Alright,” Steve pants, “Alright, I get it. Hold on a second…”

It’s not easy, but knowing that it might actually be painful for Bucky makes it easier for Steve to force his muscles to relax. After a couple of seconds, Bucky lets out a shivering sigh as his body sinks back down against the mattress in relief.

“Yeah…” he breathes, letting up on the stranglehold his left hand still has on the sheets. “Yeah, that’s better…” He peeks out from underneath the arm, eyes dazed and foggy. Then he reaches down to rests both his hands on top of Steve’s knees, holding onto them as if he’s bracing himself.

“You move first,” he says hoarsely.

Steve nods, and leans forward a bit to support himself against the mattress next to Bucky’s chest as he slowly lifts himself up. When he lowers his body back down again, Bucky presses his head into the pillow, mouth open and eyes closed, fingers digging into the meat of Steve’s thighs as his moan mingles with the similar one falling from Steve’s lips.

“Oh,” Steve whispers as he repeats the movement again, “Oh.” He can’t think of anything else to say as his brain short circuits from the sensation of having Bucky inside him, filling him up so completely. He looks down, watching Bucky as the other bites down on his lower lip, breathing hard through his nose while massaging Steve’s thighs up and down. The touch is tender, calming, as if Steve’s the one in need of reassurance, when in reality, Bucky looks as if he’s about half a second away from shaking right out of his skin.

Steve leans forward even further, moaning softly against Bucky’s clavicle as he slowly kisses his way up and down the other man’s shoulder and throat. The vibration from Bucky’s responding groan almost makes his heart beat a little off rhythm with exhilaration.

“Is it good?” Bucky gulps, and Steve nods, sitting back up while bracing himself slightly against Bucky’s heaving chest.

“Yeah,” Steve moans. “It’s good, Buck, it’s so good…”

“Good,” Bucky nods, words coming out in a jumbled rush as he continues, under his breath, “That’s good, it’s good… Oh, _fuck…_ ”

“Can you move yet?” Steve asks with a shudder. “Please, I need to feel you…”

Bucky’s breath stutters beneath the palm of Steve’s hands, and then he gives a slow, lazy thrust with his hips. It’s a gentle movement, and just a little bit timid, as if Bucky’s scared that too much force will somehow end up breaking Steve’s frail body. It’s enough, though, and Steve throws his head back with a throaty moan.

“Again,” he gasps. “Harder.”

Bucky does, and Steve rolls his hips down to meet him, gritting his teeth, because it’s still too _shallow_.

 _“Harder,”_ he hisses, making Bucky pause and swallow hard as he opens his eyes to look at him.

“Are you sure?” he whispers.

“I’m not made out of porcelain,” Steve argues.

“I know, but—”

“I can _take it_ ,” Steve near snaps back, cutting Bucky off. “I _want it_ rough, alright? Let’s _go_.”

Bucky looks up at him, eyes wide, and Steve can see the way the pupils of his eyes bloom even wider in the dusk as the words leave Steve’s mouth. Then Bucky grits his teeth and leans up to grab hold of Steve’s hips with both hands, thrusting up again, and _yes_ , that’s it, that’s the way it’s supposed to feel…!

“Oh…!” Steve chokes. “Oh, ye—like that, just like that! Oh, God, _please_ , go faster…!”

He hears Bucky grunt, and realizes that he’s closed his eyes, but he doesn’t care. It feels too good to care, and he curls his fingers against the skin of Bucky’s chest, barely aware that his nails leave angry red scratch marks behind as he does. Bucky doesn’t seem to mind it, though. Steve can hear him hiss, and then both of Bucky’s arms wrap around his upper body when Bucky leans up to pull him down, trapping him against his chest.

Bucky gives another hard shove with his hips, and Steve chokes out another strangled groan when the new position gives the thrust a new angle. It makes liquid fire race up his spine, lighting his very skin on fire, and he buries his face against the crook of Bucky’s neck with a cry when the sensation is repeated, again and again as Bucky pounds into him.

He is vaguely aware of the fact that he’s still begging for more. For harder, faster, and even though he knows that there surely is a limit for how much he can take, he still doesn’t want to stop. Bucky complies to his wishes the best he can, and the sound of his voice as he grunts and growls out his own pleasure next to Steve’s ear only makes it so much better. It’s all so amazingly good, Steve doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Bucky’s grip around his body has him rubbing up against the solid planes of Bucky’s abs, and he can feel himself get closer with every single thrust that Bucky gives against his insides. Jesus, he’s gonna come so hard, he’s not even sure he’ll be able to stay conscious through it all. He’s wet, smearing against Bucky’s skin, and when he feels Bucky’s hips still beneath him, only to keep going a split second later, he knows that he’s not gonna be able to hold it back anymore.

“Gonna come…” Bucky growls against his ear, nails digging in against Steve’s back, and Steve simply nods, because yes, him too. _Oh._

“Don’t pull out,” he whimpers, and in return Bucky’s breath hitches with such force it sounds as if he’s choking.

“God, you— Oh, _fuck_ , Stevie—”

Steve moans, because yes, he knows exactly what kind of request he just made, and Bucky’s reaction gives him the final edge he needs. He comes, slick and warm, pressed up against Bucky’s skin as his body quakes with the force of his own release. He hears Bucky gasp out a low curse against his shoulder, and feels how he thrusts up, hard, and then goes rigid, curled up in a half sitting position while his hips continues to move in lazy rolls as he spills inside Steve’s body with a fervent growl.

For a moment, time appears to stand still, and all Steve hears is the laboured sound of their combined breathing and the blood rushing through his veins, before Bucky lets out a primal groan as he collapses back down against the mattress. As he does, he pulls Steve down along with him, and Steve slumps down against Bucky’s chest with a satiated sigh.

“That was embarrassingly quick,” Bucky pants, groaning again. “I’m sorry.”

Steve lets out a whine as he rubs his forehead against Bucky’s clavicle in a makeshift shake of his head.

“It was perfect,” he mumbles drowsily.

“You’re gonna need your meds?” Bucky asks, rubbing soothing circles across his back, and Steve shakes his head again.

“No,” he says. “I’m good.”

There’s a pause.

“Just good?” Bucky asks, nudging him in the side, and Steve chuckles.

“I’m barely conscious,” he mumbles. “‘Good’ is the only word I can produce at the moment that comes close enough.”

“Ah,” Bucky says, and Steve doesn’t have to look in order to know that he’s grinning. It makes him glad, knowing that Bucky feels pleased about himself. “Then good will do,” Bucky decides. There’s another pause, and Steve feels the muscles of Bucky’s torso tense beneath him when Bucky makes an attempt to look over Steve’s shoulder. “One question, though.”

“Yeah?” Steve breathes. He’s so close to falling asleep, he can barely open his eyes.

“How are we supposed to get cleaned up without making a mess out of the bed?”

Slowly, Steve blinks his eyes open.

“You know,” he says slowly, “I didn’t really think that far.”

 

/\/\/\/\

 

Steve smiles as the memory finishes playing inside his head, and straightens up. Leaning off the balcony, he turns around and goes back inside his room to get his shoes and jacket.

It’s been almost six hours.

Bucky should be out of surgery by now.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long, guys, but the Stucky Advent Calendar had to come first since, well, there are pretty defined posting-dates for a calendar lol.
> 
> For those of you who are interested, here are the teaser posts I made for it on tumblr. (Even if you're not planning to read the calendar fic yourself, please feel free to reblog them to spread the word. I'm not that wellknown on tumblr (I think) and I'd really appreciate the signal boost <3 )  
> [Teaser 1](http://chiyume.tumblr.com/post/153306811009/coming-home-for-christmas-a-stucky-advent-calendar)  
>   
> [Teaser 2](http://chiyume.tumblr.com/post/153517312719/coming-home-for-christmas-a-stucky-advent-calendar)  
> 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and commenting on this chapter. Next chapter will be up Monday, as usual, along with the fifth chapter of the Calendar fic, unless I've counter wrong haha.  
> Take good care guys<3


	24. 24

_**July 4th, 2016** _

 

Bucky's room is not far away from Steve's own, and it only takes Steve about a five minute walk to get there.

Bucky's calm, “Come in,” when Steve knocks on the door leaves Steve's mind flashing back to the infinite amount of times when Bucky had sounded exactly the same, every time Steve came to knock on the door to Bucky's apartment back in Brooklyn.

As he pushes the handle down, he half expects to see the Bucky from back then. In a white shirt, brown slacks and that cheeky grin that had always made Steve's heart beat oh, so fast.

The Bucky that greets him is different, of course, but Steve is relieved to see that it still looks like _Bucky_. He is wearing a white tank top, along with a pair of white cotton pants with drawstrings. His hair and body are clean, with no blood in sight, even though Steve can still see the dark bruises that has formed on his skin after the fight. He’s lying barefoot on the bed with a book in his hand, and he looks remarkably relaxed and at ease in a way that sends a twinge of nostalgia through Steve’s chest.

The feeling is quickly chased away, however, when Steve notices the black prosthetic sheath that covers his left arm. Or what’s left of it, at least.

It’s just a stump, basically. The frayed edges and cables that had been left sticking out from Bucky’s upper arm after Tony’s attack have all been smoothes down and patched up. Now, not counting the metallic sheen that covers his shoulder underneath the white fabric of his clothes, he looks more vulnerable than ever, and yet, at the same time, strangely at peace.

When Steve opens the door, Bucky looks up from the book, and Steve is relieved when Bucky smiles at him.

“Hey,” he says softly, closing the door behind him.

“Hey,” Bucky replies. His voice is hoarse, as if he just woke up, and Steve comes to the conclusion that the other might actually not have been awake for that long.

Steve walks up to stand next to the bed. When Bucky moves his legs aside the make room for him, Steve slowly sinks down to sit on the mattress by his side.

“How are you feeling?” Steve asks, and Bucky gives him a lopsided shrug.

“Fine, I guess. Considering.”

Steve nods. He licks his lips.

“Whatcha reading?” he asks, nodding towards the book still in Bucky's hand. Bucky turns the book over and glances at the cover.

“Don’t know,” he answers. “I just grabbed something out of the bookcase.” He closes the book with a mute snap and tosses it aside on the bedside table. “It doesn’t matter,” he announces, “I’m not gonna have time to finish it before tomorrow anyway.”

“Why?” Steve asks curiously. “What’s tomorrow?”

Bucky looks up at him. “Cryo,” he says simply, and Steve’s face drops. He looks down at his lap.

“I thought we were gonna talk about that first,” he mumbles tightly, and Bucky sighs, using his one hand as leverage to sit up higher against the headboard of the bed.

“Talk about what, Steve?” he asks flatly. “How dangerous I think I am? How you want me to stay awake rather than going back under? How much I’d like nothing more than that, but can’t?”

“For example,” Steve retorts.

“It’s not gonna make a difference,” Bucky informs him dryly.

“You don't know that,” Steve counters. He shakes his head, looking up. “Listen, I know you're tired. I know you've had— That things have been rough. Putting it nicely. But you really should take some time to think this through.”

“You don't think I have?” Bucky asks sternly. “You think this is some idea I came up with yesterday? I've had _years_ to think about this, Steve, and I'm telling you, one more conversation with you isn't gonna change a goddamn thing.”

“But we can _help_ you,” Steve argues.

“How?” Bucky asks. “Tell me _how_ , Steve. Because if you've got a way to get this shit out of my head, then I'm all ears. But if you don't…if all you can tell me is that you'll somehow _find_ a way, then until that day comes, this is what I'll have to do.”

Steve doesn't say anything as he looks away. Staring down at the floor, he slowly wrings his hands between his knees, head down, mouth shut.

“Please, Steve,” Bucky begs, and Steve tries not to flinch when he feels the touch of the other's hand brush against his shoulder. “I want this, can't you see?”

“You didn't use to…” Steve murmurs. He feels betrayed. Robbed of something, and feeling Bucky's touch on his skin is like a cruel taunt to the hope that up until that point had been flickering inside his heart.

“I guess I’ve changed,” Bucky says softly. “ _We’ve_ changed.”

Steve bites down on his lower lip, swallowing hard.

“It’s not fair,” he rasps.

“Life rarely is,” Bucky agrees. The hand against Steve’s back slowly begins to rub a soothing circle between his shoulder blades, and Steve sighs while closing his eyes.

“I just— I just wish there was some other way.”

“Me too,” Bucky mumbles.

“I want to you to stay here,” Steve carries on. “With me. I want us to be together again, like we used to.”

“We will be,” Bucky assures him. “Eventually.”

“Why eventually?” Steve counters, sitting up and turning towards Bucky with a wince. “How come there never seems to be time for us _right now?_ ”

“There _is_ time,” Bucky argues softly. “I’m right here. We both are.”

“Until tomorrow,” Steve points out, and Bucky’s shoulders slump with another, deep sigh.

“Steve…” he starts, but then he trails off. He raises his hand, as if he wants to reach out and touch Steve again, but he pauses halfway through the movement and silently lets the hand fall back down again. He looks torn, and Steve immediately feels bad for being so short towards him.

“Hey,” he says. He reaches out and lets his hand brush against the back of Bucky’s hand before gently grabbing it. “Come here…”

He tugs, and urges Bucky to lie down alongside him on the bed. Bucky does, and he lets out another sad sigh as he allows Steve to wrap his arms around him from behind. Steve closes his eyes and presses his face against the nape of Bucky’s neck while burying his nose into the soft locks of the other man’s hair.

Bucky smells different, of course, but there’s still a hint of that same old scent that Steve remembers so fondly drifting just beneath the surface. Steve drags it in, inhaling deeply through his nose, hoping to somehow be able to memorize it again, just like he once had.

“Do you remember that time in France?” he murmurs. “When you got shot?”

Bucky snorts out a laugh. “Actually, I do,” he says. He glances down at the sheath covering what’s left of his left arm. “Ironic isn’t it?”

“A little,” Steve admits.

“We fell asleep like this,” Bucky reminisces. “You held me.”

“Yeah.” Steve kisses the nape of Bucky’s neck, just beneath the hairline. “I did.” He kisses him again. “Remember what we talked about?”

“I’m not—” Bucky starts, but then he cuts himself off. “Wasn’t it something about food?”

Steve chuckles as he pulls Bucky in closer to his chest. “There was food involved,” he agrees, “or whatever you wanna call it. But that’s not what I meant.” He tightens his grip around Bucky’s torso while swiping his thumb over the skin of his arm. “We talked about houses. Do you remember that?”

There’s a moment of silence as Bucky takes a moment to think. “You wanted to move to Europe,” he says after a while, smiling. “Elope, like in some sort of romantic novel.”

“We still could,” Steve offers hopefully.

“We’re sort of hunted by the entire world,” Bucky points out gracefully. “I don’t think we’d be able to go out for a coffee without being caught. Even less buy a _house_.”

“It won’t be that way forever,” Steve argues. “People will tire. Lose focus.

“And then you wanna go house shopping in Italy,” Bucky says with an amused snort. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“Why not?” Steve counters. “Things are different now. People like us…we have _rights_ now. Like, most of the time we’re actually considered to be _people_ , not freaks. There’s nothing unusual nowadays about two men living together.”

“Might be a bit unusual to have Captain America as a neighbour, though,” Bucky snickers.

Steve groans and nuzzles his nose against Bucky’s shoulder. “I’m never getting out of that one, am I?” he grumbles.

“Not really,” Bucky says apologetically. “The Internet makes it hard to hide from the public eye. Everyone knows your face. Not to mention,” he adds, quieter, “most people are probably gonna catch on when your boyfriend turns into a mindless killing machine without a second’s notice.”

Steve stiffens, feeling the muscles of Bucky’s back and shoulders tighten. “That’s not gonna happen,” he says firmly. “I won’t let it.”

“You can’t stop it,” Bucky counters. “Didn’t Zemo prove that to you already?”

“That was different,” Steve argues. “We didn’t even know he’d be capable of doing that. We had no idea such a risk existed.”

“Just like we don’t have any idea of how many more like it there are _left._ ” Twisting himself around in Steve’s arms, Bucky turns his head to look at Steve again. “Steve, I _have_ to do this,” he declares. “I won’t be able to live with myself if something like that were to happen again. I don’t want to hurt anyone else, I’ve done enough damage as it is. _Please._ ”

Steve turns away from the beseeching look in Bucky’s eyes. He can’t bring himself to argue, and he doesn’t have any words to argue with. It hurts like hell to admit, but he’s already realized that Bucky isn’t going to change his mind.

“I hate it,” he hisses as he presses his mouth against Bucky’s clavicle. “I _hate_ it.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything. He does, however, wrap his only arm around Steve’s waist and pull him in tight. Steve responds by doing the same to Bucky, even though he takes special care not to put any pressure on Bucky’s left shoulder.

“Promise me,” Bucky murmurs against the top of Steve’s head. “Promise you’ll remember me. Like I was.”

“Bucky—”

“ _Promise me._ ”

Steve grits his teeth as he feels the wet burn begin to form behind his closed eyelids. He never could deny Bucky anything when he used that voice… Not back then. Not now.

“I'll always remember you,” he whispers hoarsely. He squeezes his eyes shut even tighter, and feels a tear seep down his cheek as his fingers curl into the fabric at the back of Bucky’s shirt.

“Will you be there?” Bucky asks softly. “When they put me under?”

“Of course I will,” Steve grates. When he feels Bucky’s lips press down against his forehead, another tear rolls down to join the first at the corner of his mouth.

As Steve buries his face against the side of Bucky’s neck with a wet snivel, he tries to store away the warmth of the other’s body, along with the sound of his voice and the scent of his skin, committing them all to memory.

Squeezing Bucky hard, Steve then silently wishes for time to stop, and for tomorrow never to arrive.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading guys. I was supposed to have posted this yesterday, but my memory is all over the place at the moment, so I hope you don't mind me posting it today instead <3  
> Also, feel free to [follow me on tumblr](http://chiyume.tumblr.com) for more Stucky goodness ;)  
> Take care, darlings!


	25. 25

_**August 10th, 2017** _

 

Steve watches in silence how the frost clears from Bucky’s eyelashes as the final stage of the cryostasis pod’s defrosting sequence comes to a close. He is nervous. His stomach is in knots, and his throat feels too small around his windpipe, but he sternly tells himself to calm down. He _volunteered_ for this.

T’challa tried to convince him that it wouldn’t be necessary, that everything would be fine, but Steve knows that it has to be done. Bucky will never agree to end this if they don’t.

Steve volunteered, because if _anyone_ should be doing this, then it’s him. He is also fully aware of the fact that should this – against T’challa’s assertive reassurances – fail, then Steve’s the only one who stands a fighting chance to deal with the consequences…

Bucky’s eyelids flutter, and Steve squares his shoulders when the other man slowly opens his eyes. His heart leaps inside his chest. It’s been so long… So many months, so many endless hours that he has spent looking through the infuriating glass of that pod, but this is not the time to become emotional.

Bucky blinks, slowly, for a moment looking as if he’s still half asleep. Steve notices the fine trembles of his body when the blood circulation begins to flow faster. The second time he opens his eyes, it takes them a few moments to focus on Steve’s face, and then Bucky frowns groggily.

“Steve?” he rasps.

“Hey,” Steve whispers back. He smiles softly. “How are you feeling?”

“Thirsty,” Bucky answers throatily after a few beats, and his mouth moves up into a dazed little smile. Then he turns his head to squint around himself, looking confused. “Where are we?”

“Still in Wakanda,” Steve says, watching Bucky eyes move over the room they’re in. He sees them trace over the bare, white tiles, moving on to the windowless walls, until his gaze eventually turns down to look at the steel straps spanning over his chest, keeping him inside the pod. Steve licks his lips when Bucky’s then raises his head to look Steve in the eye.

“Gonna let me out?” he asks slowly. His smile is gone, and Steve’s heart aches.

“I can’t,” he responds sadly. “There’s something I’ve gotta do first.”

“Like what?”

Steve looks at him, and Bucky doesn’t move as he then steps forward to press a soft, lingering kiss against Bucky’s lips. “I love you,” Steve murmurs. He pulls back. “I’m sorry.”

Bucky frowns at him, and the confusion on his face deepens as he watches Steve take a deep breath and step away from the pod, away from him.

 _“_ _Zhelaniye_ _,”_ Steve says faintly, and Bucky’s face falls. _“_ _Rzhavet.”_

“Steve…” Bucky breathes, eyes widening. “Steve, what are you doing…?”

 _“Semnadtsat’,”_ Steve continues, unwavering. He tries to tell Bucky that he’s sorry, tries to show it with his entire body, but Bucky’s lips just quake as he grits his teeth at him. “Stop it!” he growls. The previous confusion is quickly turning into panic, but Steve simply shakes his head, focusing on the job.

 _“Rassvet,”_ he recites tightly, looking down when Bucky begins to tear at the restrictions around his chest. Bucky only has one arm, but he’s still a super soldier, capable of more strength than any average human. Steve can only pray that the straps will hold…

_“Pech’.”_

He can hear Bucky’s breathing turn ragged, and the sound of him struggling against the bonds echoes between the walls of the room, but Steve refuses to watch it. He can’t. This is all for Bucky’s sake, and Steve can’t back down now.

 _“Devyat’,”_ he grits out, closing his eyes.

“Steve, _please!_ ” Bucky is begging now, and the tears in his throat make Steve feel nauseous. The sound tears at his insides, ripping his heart in half. He doesn’t let it stop him.

_“Dobroserdechnyy.”_

Bucky screams, and Steve fists his hands by his side, fighting the tears in his own eyes. _“Vozvrashcheniye na rodinu!”_ he yells, making sure his voice carries over the sound of Bucky’s cries no matter how much it hurts. _“Odin!”_

As the final word shakes past his lips, Steve tries desperately not to linger on the memory of Bucky, with eyes wide in fear as he falls, screaming, to his gruesome death a thousand feet below. _“Gruzovoy vagon!”_

Everything goes quiet.

Steve doesn’t dare to move. He listens, but all he can hear is the shaky sound of Bucky’s labored breathing as it floats together with the vicious sound of his own heartbeat. He is scared. Terrified beyond belief, and his hands are shaking where they are, still clenched tight by his sides.

He forces himself to look up.

Bucky is still restrained to the pod, his head hung low. The restrictions held. His hair is draping down in front of his face, and his chest is rising and falling in deep, grounding breaths. He is shaking, muscles twitching beneath the surface of his skin, as if he’s trying to fight off a cold that runs deeper than his very bones.

The silence is eerie, and Steve represses the anxious chill that creeps up his spine as he takes a slow, hesitant step towards the pod. “Buck?” he asks warily, canting his head down.

There is no response.

“Bucky?” Steve tries again.

“It’s gone…”

Steve swallows thickly as the other man slowly raises his head, and oh, dear god, Bucky’s eyes are clear as he stares back at Steve’s face. There are tears in his eyes, but they’re _his_ eyes, and Steve can feel his chest pull in tight around his lungs when Bucky repeats, “It’s all gone…”

Unconsciously, Steve takes another step forward. “Are you sure?” he asks, and Bucky stares out into empty space for a moment before looking back up. “Say it again,” he orders under his breath.

“Are you su—?”

 _“Again,”_ Bucky snarls, but then he closes his eyes with an apologetic whine. “Please…”

Steve hesitates, but when he sees the way Bucky is still trembling, he begins to cite the words once more, watching as Bucky mouths along with every syllable that leaves his lips. When it’s done, Bucky lets out a disbelieved chuckle, which just as fast morphs into a whimper as he raises his head.

“I’m—” He chokes. The words fail him, and Steve quickly steps forward when Bucky hangs his head back down with a blubbered sob. More or less tearing the straps off the pod, Steve wraps the other man into his arms while burying his face against the side of Bucky’s neck.

“It’s okay,” he soothes, hearing his own voice turn into a croak as he feels Bucky’s one hand come up to clutch at his shoulder. “It’s okay, Buck, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, but you had to be unprepared, or we wouldn’t have been able to make sure.”

Bucky tries to say something, but he can’t. Instead, he settles with a vicious shake of his head, grabbing around Steve even tighter. He makes an attempt to move, but his legs, which are still weak from cryo, simply give out from underneath him when he does.

Steve follows him down, breaking the fall as they both sag to the floor. Bucky clings to him, sobbing and shaking against Steve’s shoulder, and Steve slowly strokes his hand over his hair and lets him cry without saying a word.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

The first thing they do is to get Bucky a warm shower. After that, Steve makes sure he also gets a new change of clothes, followed by a hot meal.

During the time Steve has been living in Wakanda, it has become more than clear to him that caring for his personnel is something the Wakandan King takes very seriously. Therefore, it had not come as a surprise to him to learn that the science research department of the Black Panther’s secret hideout has a separate cafeteria and kitchen all to themselves.

It’s empty when they get there. Whether that’s because people are staying out of their way on T’challa’s orders, or if it’s purely coincidental, Steve doesn’t know. He doesn’t really care either.

There is some soup prepared and waiting for them in one of the big fridges in the kitchen. Staying in cryostasis for longer periods of time has a tendency to mess with one's digestion, and T’challa’s people had been very insistent that soup would be one of the best alternatives to get Bucky’s internal system back on track again.

Steve watches as Bucky eats the soup close to reverently, savoring each spoonful as he puts in into his mouth before swallowing.

“Glad to see you with such healthy appetite,” Steve comments from the other side of the table, and Bucky smiles, swallowing another mouthful of soup down.

“It feels nice,” he says. “In Siberia, after they tore me out of cryo, all I got was an IV bag and a bunch of electrical shocks.” He frowns, frowning down at the spoon in his hand. “It’s funny, though,” he says. “I’ve never really thought about that before… What it was like waking up, I mean.”

He looks up at Steve, still with the same frown. “What exactly did T’challa’s research team do to me?”

“It’s a bit too complicated for me to tell exactly,” Steve apologizes. “But from what I understood it, they managed to locate the neurons in your brain that responded to the mental conditioning Hydra put inside your head. And they…basically fried them.”

Bucky’s eyes widen, and he halts the new spoon of soup halfway to his mouth.

“They burnt a piece of my brain?” he asks slowly.

“It sounds a lot more dramatic than it is,” Steve assures him. “I was there. And no, they didn’t cut you open,” he continues with a fond chuckle when Bucky unconsciously drops the spoon to reach up towards his head. “They used toxins, not a knife. You _did_ give them permission to do whatever it took,” he adds.

“I know,” Bucky says quickly as he lowers his hand back down with a guilty flinch. “I just— It all feels a bit…surreal, you know?”

“I can imagine,” Steve agrees softly.

“So…” Bucky mumbles. “The conditioning is gone? Like, not temporary gone, or blocked off by something. It's _gone?_ ”

“Completely,” Steve replies. “Erased from your consciousness. T’challa’s team were very thorough. And _careful_ ,” he adds firmly. “They assured me they didn’t touch anything else in there. You don’t feel any different, right? No parts missing?”

“I feel fine,” Bucky says earnestly. “Like…normal.” He lowers his head, shaking it softly. “Man, I guess I owe T’challa a pretty big thank you after this, don’t I?”

“He’d probably appreciate it,” Steve says with a smile.

“Where is he, by the way?”

“On the way to the airport along with Tony,” Steve answers. “He’ll be back later.”

Instantly, Bucky grows still. “Tony was here?” he asks warily.

“Yeah,” Steve says, and his smile widens as he sees the worried expression on Bucky’s face. “He came by to deliver a few parts for your new arm. T’challa and him have been working on it nonstop since your procedure.”

“Oh.” Bucky blinks. “Is he— I mean, does he—?” He clears his throat as he looks back down into his bowl of soup, picking the spoon back up. “How’s he doing?”

“Better,” Steve answers honestly. “He’s had some time to think things over.”

“Time…” Bucky whispers. Then he looks back up at Steve again. “How long was I under?”

“One year, one month and six days,” Steve informs him calmly, before adding with a smirk, “Not that I was counting.” He swallows as he grows serious again. “You know… Tony said that he’d really like to talk to you. Whenever you’re feeling up to it.”

“He knows I’m awake?” Bucky asks cautiously.

“He does. T’challa too.”

“And they thought it was safe to leave me here with you alone?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, nodding. “T’challa’s been very confident that the procedure would work.” He lets out a short laugh. “In fact,” he admits, “I think the only one who’s been worried it wouldn’t work was me.”

He pauses, and looks at the other man across the table. Then he sighs. “Listen, Bucky…” he confesses. “You should know that I’m the one who suggested to test you when you woke up. I wanted to make sure, for your sake, I— I wanted to prove that you weren’t dangerous anymore, and I’m sorry I put you through that without your consent.”

“Don’t be,” Bucky says firmly. “You did the right thing. I never would have believed it otherwise.”

“That’s what I figured as well,” Steve agrees, “but still… I forced you to relive a traumatizing situation, and no matter the purpose, I’m going to be sorry for that for the rest of my life.”

“You’ve always been such a sentimental sap,” Bucky says with a huff. “To be honest, that’s one of the things I like most about you.”

“Will you forgive me?” Steve prompts, and Bucky chuckles.

“You really need to ask?” he counters. Steve smiles, feeling relief settle over the worry in his gut like a blanket quenching a fire.

“By the way, before I forget it,” he says, “There are a few rules you’re gonna have to follow now that you’re up and about again.”

“Alright?” Bucky says slowly.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “T’challa has already promised that there won’t be any complications from the procedure, but if you feel like something’s off, you _have_ to let someone know immediately. For your own safety. This is not a debate,” he adds firmly. “If I find out that you're hiding stuff out of stubbornness or pride, I'm gonna drag you back down to the lab and strap you to the research table myself.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Bucky agrees, mouth twitching slightly in amusement. “What else?”

“Well…” Steve continues, a bit taken aback by the lack of protests. “You’re gonna have to stay here at the facility for another few days for observation. But you’re perfectly free to walk around as you like in the meantime,” he finishes encouragingly.

“And?” Bucky prompts.

“And…T’challa said he wants to give you a full briefing on the procedure in the morning,” Steve ends lamely. Bucky blinks.

“That’s it?” he asks, and Steve shrugs.

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“No guards?” Bucky insists. “No forbidden areas? People I should stay away from?”

“No.” Steve frowns. “No, that’s—that’s it.”

Bucky snorts, sounding both skeptical and genuinely surprised all at once.

“You're in good company here, Buck,” Steve explains softly, noticing the disbelief in the other man's response. “This is not a prison, and you're here as a guest. As a _friend._ ”

He watches as Bucky swallows thickly when he registers Steve's last word, but even though it makes him smile, he still continues to stare down at his bowl in silence. Steve can hear him drag for breath and then let it out, as if he's about to say something, but then he changes his mind and remains quiet. Hesitating still, even after everything.

“You know,” Steve says, gracefully changing the subject, “if you want, you could probably get your new arm attached later today, once T’challa gets back from the airport. It's all been prepared already.”

“No, I'm—” Bucky cuts himself off with a dazed little chuckle. “I can wait,” he says, glancing up at Steve. “I sort of wanna wake up properly first. Catch up with stuff, you know?”

“Sure,” Steve agrees. “The new arm is really cool, though,” he adds, smiling. “You’ll like it. It should be a lot lighter than your old one. Easier to use.”

Bucky nods. He doesn't respond, however. Instead, he slowly pushes his plate aside and gives a lazy little one-armed stretch of his head. “I'm full,” he announces.

“You sure?” Steve asks. “You only had like, half a plate?”

“IV bags, remember?” Bucky retorts while standing up from the table. Steve follows suit, and when Bucky gestures for him to come closer, he obediently walks around the table and gently wraps his arms around him.

“Say it one more time,” Bucky mumbles against Steve's shoulder. Steve does. The Russian words fall off his tongue with an ease he never would have believed possible, and he feels Bucky exhale softly against his neck when nothing happens.

“It’s so surreal,” Bucky whispers.

“T’challa’s people did a good job,” Steve agrees, and Bucky lets out another, relaxing sigh before he looks back up at Steve's face.

“So?” he asks. “What do we do now?”

“Whatever we want,” Steve counters. “What do _you_ wanna do?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky confesses. “This is the first time I've felt as if I actually had a genuine choice.”

Steve smiles. Then he leans down and kisses Bucky on the lips. When he strokes his thumb across Bucky’s cheek, he feels the other man's breath hitch in a faint gasp.

“Actually, now that I think about it…” Bucky murmurs while tightening his fingers around the fabric of Steve’s shirt. “Is there someplace we could go that's not as…public? There’s something I’ve sort of been wanting to do…”

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know, I missed out on some real quality angst by skipping over the year Bucky spent in cryo. I'm sure there are a bunch of other fics out there that deal with this particular subject, however, so you guys should still be fine ;)
> 
> Next time will most likely be the last update to this story, as it is coming to a close. I hope you guys have enjoyed it so far, and I hope to see you for the final chapter as well <3
> 
> If you want, you're more than welcome to [follow me on tumblr](http://chiyume.tumblr.com), and for those of you who use it, I'm also on Twitter. Feel free to drop me a line about whatever you want! :)
> 
> See you Monday, my darlings!


	26. 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG, GUYS!  
> Ugh, uni has been kicking my ass sore ever since Christmas, I kid you not, and I've been sick on top of that.  
> But it's here, it's up, and I hope you guys will enjoy it <3
> 
>  
> 
> Beta for this chapter was done by the wonderful and ever so glorious  
> [Nursedarry](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NurseDarry) <3

_**August 10th, 2017** _

Steve lets go of Bucky's hand to swipe the key card against the reader on the wall, and the door obediently slides open.

“Well,” he announces modestly, “here we are.”

He lets Bucky walk through the door first, before following inside. Once he’s past the threshold, the door slides shut behind him with a soft thud and a click from the automated lock.

It’s more of a studio apartment rather than a room, to be honest. There’s a kitchen area with a full sized fridge, a stove, and a sink almost directly to the left of the entrance. The kitchen counter acts as both a dining table and divider to the rest of the main room, which consists of a big, L-shaped couch, a coffee table, a narrow bookshelf, and a wall mounted TV with a bench placed beneath it. All the furniture is white, which is delicately accented with textiles in grey, black, and dark Caribbean blue.

Bucky walks past it all without even a second glance. He heads towards the floor-to-ceiling glass wall that separates the living room from the bedroom, where Steve’s still unmade king-sized bed thrones on a thick bamboo carpet, opposite a near-empty desk.

“I see you still suck at making your bed,” Bucky comments while leaning in through the open doorway with a pointed glance at the piece of furniture in question.

“Yeah,” Steve admits as he walks up to stand next to him. “It never stops being boring.”

Bucky laughs. It’s a sound that travels through Steve’s body like a wave of pure warmth. It feels so good to hear that sound, after such a long time, and he already has his mouth open to let Bucky know that when Bucky turns around and kisses him.

It is not a soft kiss, or a shy kiss. It is brimming with emotions. Longing, passion, relief, and as Bucky pulls Steve in with one hand firmly wrapped around his neck, Steve meets him halfway as he puts both his hands on either side of Bucky’s hips and squeezes tight.

“I’ve missed you…” Bucky whispers, and Steve smiles into the kiss.

“How?” he asks. “The time spent inside that pod must have felt like less than a minute to you.”

“Longest minute of my life,” Bucky swears solemnly, and Steve laughs again as he brings one of his hands up to brush his fingers through Bucky’s hair.

“You know,” he says contemplatively,  “once you got this washed properly, it doesn’t look all that bad on you.” Bucky ducks his head down, smiling shyly as Steve drags the tip of his index finger down along the scruff on Bucky’s chin, adding, “This too, actually.”

“What’s with all the compliments?” Bucky says, snorting out a chuckle. “Are you trying to seduce me or something?”

“Maybe,” Steve admits with a lopsided smirk. “Is it working?”

“Maybe,” Bucky purrs back, before pulling Steve down for another insistent kiss. Steve lets him, reciprocating to the best of his abilities when Bucky drags him along into the bedroom to sink down on the edge of the bed. He nips at Steve’s lip, groaning into his mouth as he scoots backwards to lie down on the pillows piled up against the headboard, still without breaking the kiss.

Steve kisses back, of course he does, and Bucky’s so eager for it, Steve can barely keep up. Starved of touch, Bucky pushes up against Steve’s body as the same time has he fists the front of Steve’s shirt to keep him from going anywhere. It’s needy, in a slow, torturous kind of way, and Steve can feel Bucky’s breath shake against his lips when Bucky lets out one breathy moan after another.

“Say it again,” Bucky suddenly murmurs against Steve’s lips, and Steve pulls back, surprised.

“What, right now?” he asks dumbfounded, and Bucky nods, eyes blissfully closed. Steve hesitates, but then smirks as he leans down to nibble at the lobe of Bucky’s ear.

“ _Longing_ ,” he whispers in Russian against Bucky's skin, feeling Bucky shudder beneath him as he clarifies, “What I’ve been doing for you for the past seventy-five years.” He kisses Bucky’s lips, speaking against the seam of them when he continues, “ _Rusted_.” He chuckles. “How I feel about my kissing skills.”

He feels Bucky’s smile widen against his mouth before he moves to kiss his way down his clavicle and throat, making Bucky sigh.

“ _Seventeen_. The age I was the first time I caught myself thinking about touching you like this.” Pushing Bucky’s white tank top up, Steve spreads a dotted line of kisses over his chest. As his mouth graces the edge of a pert nipple, Bucky pushes up against the touch with a soft gasp.

“ _Daybreak_ . The point when we’ll most likely be going to bed after this,” Steve promises and Bucky hums in approval, and his breath stutters eagerly when Steve moves even further down to kiss at his ribs. “ _Furnace_ … How hot my blood feels when you touch me…”

Bucky moans, and he shifts beneath Steve’s mouth when it slides over his abs, before letting out a stifled giggle when Steve circles his tongue around his bellybutton.

“ _Nine_ ,” Steve murmurs, grinning with a final, wet flick against Bucky’s skin. “The number of times I’ve thought about doing _that_ today.” He looks down at Bucky’s still-smiling face, and settles his hands firmly on either sides of the other man’s hips to keep him still. “ _Benign_ ,” he whispers. He swallows hard, moving his thumbs back and forth over the ridge of Bucky’s hip bones. “The only kind of hands I’ll ever place on you.”

Slowly, Bucky opens his eyes to look back at him.

“ _Homecoming_ ,” Steve continues softly. “What having you here feels like.” He leans down and plants a lingering kiss against the ridge of Bucky’s left hip bone where it peeks over the hem of Bucky’s sweatpants. As he repeats the same action on the right hip, Bucky tips his head back against the pillow with a groan.

“ _One_ ,” Steve whispers, still with his lips brushing over Bucky’s skin. “You.”

He looks up when Bucky suddenly mutters something in Russian under his breath as he tries to move his hips beneath the steady grip of Steve’s hands. Steve chuckles.

“I don’t know what that means,” he confesses.

“It means hurry the fuck up,” Bucky grates, and Steve gives a short, amused laugh, before growing serious once again.

There’s one word left. Steve doesn’t really want to say what that word makes him think about, because it’s not a good thing. It’s the same picture as before; of Bucky, reaching for Steve’s hands with a look of absolute horror on his face, and it’s not a memory he wants to bring up right now.

“ _Freight car_ …” he says softly, and Bucky stills, looking up at him. “Where I was when I realized that you’re the only one I’ll ever love,” Steve declares solemnly. “And that I’ll give up anything in order to have you here with me for the rest of my life.”

“Guess you got your wish, then,” Bucky murmurs. The words are low, yet not without a hint of bitterness, and Steve smiles.

“I only ever wished for you,” he whispers. In return, he gets to see Bucky’s lips twitch up into a smile of their own, just before Bucky moves to drag his one hand down over his face, tipping his head back into the pillow with a pained groan.

“Jesus, that's the most _simpery_ sweet line I’ve ever heard…” he whimpers, and Steve knows without having to see it that James Buchanan Barnes is currently blushing like a stop sign beneath the protective cover of his hand.

“Look who’s talking,” Steve counters slyly. He grins, smoothing his own hands up Bucky’s chest. “As I recall it, you were quite the romantic back in the day.”

Bucky grunts out something unintelligible as he arches into the palm of Steve’s hand, but he doesn’t give a proper answer. Steve decides to take the hint, and goes to work on Bucky’s clothes.

Bucky's underwear is loosely fitted, and is easily pulled off along with his soft cotton pants. The white tank top takes a bit more work, but Bucky still succeeds to (quite literally) single-handedly drag the garment up and off over the top of his head.

Steve barely gives him enough time to toss the shirt over the edge of the bed before he lowers his mouth down over him, and Bucky gasps when Steve flattens his tongue against the length of his cock with a low hum.

“ _God_ , I’ve missed that…” he groans, and Steve responds by chuckling around the flesh in his mouth, before giving it a light suck. “Fuck…” Bucky breathes, limbs twitching as he gives a lazy thrust with his hips in return.

Steve lets him, and it doesn’t take long before Bucky has set up a rhythm, leisurely pushing his cock in and out of Steve’s mouth while Steve tries to take him as deep as he can with each movement. Listening close, Steve can pinpoint the exact moment when Bucky begins to lose himself in it. When his gaze becomes glassy and unfocused, and the muscles in his thighs starts to flex uncontrollably beneath the weight of Steve's hands.

Bucky said that he's missed this, but lord, Steve’s willing to bet that he's missed it even more. The taste, the sounds, the smell of Bucky's skin… It's intoxicating, and Steve wants more, wants to give this to Bucky in so many ways, tonight, tomorrow, and always.

He hums around Bucky's cock, doubling his efforts. When he hears Bucky's breath hitch, only to lower into a growl a split second after, he knows that it’s not going to be much longer.

Indeed, Bucky only lasts a total of five minutes. When he comes, he does so while wringing the sheets in his hand, and staring down at Steve’s mouth as Steve works him through the high, jaw slack and chest heaving with every moan that tumbles off his lips.

When Steve eventually pulls off and slowly licks away the remaining come and spit lingering at the of the corner of his mouth, Bucky lets out a low, longing groan.

“Get back up here,” he orders, and when Steve – still fully dressed – crawls up towards him, he leans down and tugs pointedly at Steve’s shirt. “Your turn…” he whispers, and Steve smiles as he sits up a bit higher, kneeling on the bed.

“You don’t wanna wait?” he asks. “Give it a minute?”

“Won’t need to,” Bucky says, grinning back at him. “You’re not the only one with super-serum nowadays.”

Steve swallows.

“You mean—?”

“Three minutes,” Bucky promises slyly. “Tops.”

Steve grins, and then he moves up to straddle Bucky’s stomach while pulling his shirt off over his head.

“That looks a lot easier with two hands,” Bucky comments enviously, even as he uses his own fingers to unfasten and unzip the fly of Steve’s jeans.

“Don’t try to turn this into a matter of numbers,” Steve counters. “I happen to know exactly how good you are with the hand you’ve got left.”

“Touchè,” Bucky admits. He reaches out and tugs at the hem of Steve’s jeans, using the grip as leverage while sitting up higher to lick across the span of Steve’s chest. Steve sighs as he braces himself against the headboard, and looking down, he then watches Bucky as he sucks punishing bruises against his skin. One, two,three of them, before moving on to flick his tongue over Steve’s nipples, biting down loosely.

It’s been so long, Steve’s almost forgotten exactly how good Bucky is at doing that. The teasing, the pleasurable torture of making Steve go mindless from the touch of his mouth alone, and when Bucky begins to massage him through the thin material of his boxer briefs, Steve hangs his head down with a ragged moan, shuddering all over.

“Christ, Buck…” he pants, rocking his hips against Bucky’s palm. “You’re gonna drive me crazy like this.”

Bucky’s response is to hum while giving Steve’s left nipple an extra hard suck, and then Steve chokes on a groan when Bucky shoves his hand down the front of Steve’s underwear and begins to jerk him off, hard and fast.

Steve's hips stutter into the touch as the action catches him off guard, and he can feel the slick of his own precome spread over the head of him when Bucky's thumb makes a quick swipe over his slit.

“You still like that, don't you?” Bucky asks under his breath, and Steve nods, mouth falling open in a moan. “You always liked it rough,” Bucky reminisces. “Always begging me for more. For harder and faster. You couldn't get enough of it.”

“Still can't…” Steve confesses shakily. “You feel so damn good.” He tips his head back with a groan, feeling Bucky's teeth close around his nipple – the right one, this time – and then how Bucky flicks his tongue over the nub inside his mouth, circling the tip of it slowly.

“Bucky… Oh, god, Bucky…”

Steve is shaking, rocking into Bucky's hand while Bucky continues to kiss and lick all over him. His breath keeps hitching, and Steve knows that Bucky is doing his best to chase every single gasp and whimper that he can out of him. He can tell it by the way Bucky keeps glancing up at him every time he makes a noise, and in the way he speeds up the pace of his hand whenever Steve meets his gaze.

“Bucky…” Steve pants, trying to keep his voice steady enough to actually get the name past his lips. “Bucky, I—” It's no use. He can't even form a proper sentence, but Bucky seems to get the message just fine.

“Yeah,” he breathes, looking Steve in the eye when he adds a little bit of pressure to the spot right beneath the head of Steve's cock with his thumb. “Just like that.”

Steve whines, and his eyelids threaten to close as he curls his fingers around the top of the headboard in his hands.

“That’s it,” Bucky praises. “C’mon, Stevie. Just let go, sweetheart.”

It’s the ‘sweetheart’ that does it. The word alone releases a flood of memories inside Steve’s brain, and he comes with a strung out, _“Oh…”_ while struggling to keep his eyes open and fixed on Bucky's face when the wave hits.

He shoots, hot and wet, all over Bucky's chest and clavicle. Bucky gasps when the release hits his skin, and Steve moans at the sight of the white, milky substance as it dribbles down the front of the other man's body.

“Sorry…” he pants apologetically once the rush fades, and Bucky slowly falls back down against the bed with a smug grin.

“Don't act as if you didn't like that,” Bucky scolds affectionately. “The only thing you're sorry about is not getting me in the face.”

Steve smirks, and his legs wobble a little as he climbs off of Bucky's body to stand next to the bed. “I'm gonna get you a towel,” he says. “Don't move.”

“Oh, don't worry,” Bucky murmurs. “I'm not planning to leave anytime soon.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he's still smiling as he makes his way out to the kitchen to get some fresh paper towels. On a hunch, he also makes a quick dive into the pantry, before returning to the bedroom.

Bucky sees him coming as he approaches the glass wall, and when he spots the items in Steve's hands, he raises a curious eyebrow Steve's way.

“What's that?” he asks with an amused nod towards the jar that Steve sets down at the bedside table in passing as he climbs back onto the bed.

“Coconut oil,” Steve informs him calmly while affectionately placing a couple of the paper towels over the mess on Bucky's chest. “They use it for just about everything around here. And it works a lot better than Vaseline,” he adds with a pointed glance Bucky's way.

Bucky, who as promised, already has recovered from his previous orgasm, gives an intrigued twitch at the suggestive message. “Really?” he asks curiously.

“Yeah,” Steve insists, wiping down Bucky’s chest one final time, before tossing the tissues over the edge of the bed. “Don't worry, I did my research.”

“Well, in either case I guess it still beats _lard_ ,” Bucky says, grinning as he sits back up again, and Steve grimaces with a wince.

“God, don't remind me,” he begs. “The suit smelled like bacon for a _week_.”

“You’re the one who couldn’t wait for the supplies to get in,” Bucky points out graciously. He grunts, turning around to stand on all threes on the bed. “We would have had plenty of Vaseline in just a matter of days.”

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Steve says with an offended huff as he reaches past Bucky’s shoulder to grab the jar of coconut oil from the bedside table. “Whose idea was it to raid the food truck in the first place?”

“It was an innocent suggestion,” Bucky defends himself, following the jar from the corner of his eye as it disappears behind his back. “I didn’t think you’d actually _do_ _it._ ”

“You sure as hell seemed enthusiastic enough about it when I did,” Steve points out.

“Wouldn’t you have been?” Bucky shoots back, and Steve chuckles as he unscrews the lid of the container in his hands.

“Hey,” Bucky says suddenly. “You think the guys ever figured out were the ones who took it?”

“Dum-Dum did,” Steve answers while dipping his fingers into the jar. “The others, I don't know.”

“Guess we weren't as stealthy as we thought,” Bucky says with an audible smirk.

“Not likely,” Steve replies, snorting. “Especially considering the fact that you always made sure everyone in camp knew when we were going at it.”

“I was banging _Captain America,_ ” Bucky huffs. “I figured I was entitled to brag.”

“I bet you were,” Steve murmurs, and then Bucky’s breath stutters when Steve pushes the first finger against his entrance, twisting slightly. However, Bucky adapts to the intrusion quickly, and before long he’s pushing back against the digit, wordlessly pleading for more.

“Eager, aren’t you?” Steve asks, smiling. “Seriously, we've gotta go slow, or I might end up hurting you.”

“Not likely,” Bucky grates thickly. “After all, it’s not like I spent those years in Romania celibate… A guy's got needs, you know.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asks with a frown, fingers pausing as an unsettling thought hits him. “You’ve been— With other people?”

“Jealous?” Bucky chuckles, glancing back at Steve over his shoulder. “Don’t be. A life on the run doesn’t exactly make for good romantic relations.”

“Then, what do you—” Steve cuts himself off, taking a deep breath when the penny drops, and he gets what Bucky is talking about. He leans down and presses his forehead against Bucky’s spine, exhaling slowly. “Did you use your left hand?” he asks, curling his fingers against the insides of Bucky’s body.

“S—Sometimes…” Bucky admits, swallowing hard, and Steve picks up the pace of his hand with a groan as the mental image slams into his brain. Bucky, splayed out on that dingy old mattress in his apartment in Bucharest, eyes closed and mouth open while the gleam of his metal fingers press—

“Jesus…” he hisses, feeling himself twitch below the waistline. “You’re gonna have to show me that. Once you get your new arm…”

Bucky nods, and he bites down at his lower lip, tensing up when Steve pushes a third finger inside. Steve wonders for a moment if he’s gone too fast, but the moment he slows down, Bucky lets out a low, wounded whine, rocking his hips back.

“You want more?” Steve teases. He adds a bit more pressure to the pads of his fingers, and Bucky jolts beneath the touch with a gasp. “Right there?” Steve asks. Without waiting for a reply, he does it again, and again, and Bucky’s breath catches with each and every touch.

Steve knows exactly where to press, where to stroke, and how slow to go before speeding up in order to make Bucky lose it. It’s a game, and even though it’s been a long time since they last did this, Steve still remembers how to play. So does Bucky it seems, because his gasp suddenly shifts into a shocked laugh when he realizes what Steve is doing.

“Dammit, Steve…” he groans. “Are you trying to kill me…?”

“You said you didn’t need to wait,” Steve defends himself innocently.

“I did,” Bucky agrees hoarsely, “but I didn’t think you’d take advantage of it.” He leans his forehead down against the mattress with a dirty moan when Steve aims another squeeze at his prostate. “Fuck, I’m not gonna last…”

“That’s sort of the plan,” Steve confesses with a smirk, and Bucky’s body gives a violent quake in response. Bucky curls his fingers into the pillow beneath his head as he slumps down onto his metal shoulder with a breathless whine, rocking back over Steve’s fingers.

“You’re gonna make me come…” he pants, and the words nearly shake apart when another vicious tremble courses through his limbs. “Oh, fuck, I’m gonna come… Gonna come all over the goddamn bed, Steve… Oh, my god… Oh, _god…!_ ”

Steve moans when he feels Bucky’s body tighten around his fingers, and Bucky comes with a deep, drawn out moan as he spills his release over the sheets below, shivering and shaking.

“That’s it,” Steve soothes as he strokes his free hand up and down the length of Bucky’s writhing back, rubbing inside him with the fingers of the other a few more times, before slowly pulling them out. “That’s it, Buck…”

Gently, he guides Bucky to lie down on the other side of the bed, and once he’s gotten Bucky onto his back, he stands up and yanks the sheets off the mattress, before they soak through. Bucky groans when he has to lift himself up in order for Steve to get the bedding out from underneath him, sending Steve a half-lidded glower from underneath his lashes.

“That’s a really cheap way to get out of making the bed,” he grumbles drowsily. Steve only smiles, and gives him a cheeky little wink out of the corner of his eye as he carefully picks up a pack of wet wipes from inside the bedside drawer to clean his fingers off.  

When he’s done, he climbs back onto the bed and settles himself in between Bucky’s sprawled out legs. “You ready?” he asks, and Bucky nods as he tips his head back against the pillow. When he gives Steve an encouraging little smile, Steve simply can’t help himself. He crawls on top of him and places a long, tender kiss against Bucky’s lips, moaning when Bucky tears away to breathe out a shuddering, “Oh, yeah…” when Steve begins to push inside of him.

Steve takes his time, going slow, and Bucky’s breathing halts every time Steve rocks his hips back. Steve feels it when Bucky smoothes his fingers up the side of his ribs, and then further down until they grab around his lower back, pushing down in time with Steve’s thrusts. It's sweet, hot, and Steve presses his face against the side of Bucky’s neck with a soft sigh when he finally feels himself bottom out inside the other man’s body.

“God, I’ve missed you…” he whispers as he turns his head to kiss at Bucky’s shoulder. “I’ve missed you so much. It’s been so lonely here without you, Buck…” Slowly, he rocks forward, and Bucky immediately digs his fingers into the muscles at the small of Steve’s back with an appreciative gasp.

“I’ve thought about this so many times,” Steve confesses breathily, pulling out just as slowly before pushing back in. “Of what I would do with you once you got back. How I’d touch you…kiss you…”

Bucky chuckles under his breath, and Steve smiles as he shoves in a little bit harder in revenge, making Bucky choke. Bucky’s eyes flutter shut when Steve then sets the pace, and he moans, pushing the side of his face into the beddings.

“You’re so beautiful,” Steve murmurs. He leans in and kisses Bucky’s cheek. “The most gorgeous sight I’ve ever seen. From the first time I laid eyes on you…” He shivers, body jerking, and Bucky answers by tilting his pelvis up to bring Steve even deeper inside of him. “So, so beautiful…” Steve whispers under his breath, and he nearly gasps on the words when Bucky thrusts up against him in response.

He smoothes his hand down the side of Bucky’s ribcage, down his hips to grab around the back of Bucky’s thigh in order to hoist it up higher. Bucky arches and pushes his other foot down against the mattress for leverage when Steve picks up the pace. It’s still slow, like a dirty grind, forceful and tender all at the same time, and Steve can feel the vibration of Bucky’s moans against his lips and chest whenever he manages to get the angle of his thrusts just right.

It's good. It's so, _so_ good, and Steve tips his head down to rest the side of his face against Bucky’s clavicle when he feels the heat begin to lick its way up his spine.

Glancing up, he sees that Bucky is biting at his lower lip while breathing hard through his nose. There is a sheen of sweat forming on his forehead, accompanying the blush that’s begun to travel down his throat to bloom across his chest. They’re all tell-tale signs – ones that Steve recognizes well – and knowing that Bucky is getting close again makes the wave of his own climax approach even faster.

“You want me inside?” he whispers into the dip between Bucky’s collarbones. In return, Bucky lets out a loud, unrestrained groan as he pushes his already suspended ankle against the small of Steve’s back to keep him in place.

The sentiment is obvious, and Steve can feel the goosebumps rise on Bucky’s skin when Steve breathes out a ravenous growl over the other man’s chest. He braces himself with his elbows against the mattress, and lifting himself up, he looks down at Bucky’s face. Bucky has his eyes screwed shut, and his mouth is hanging open, chest heaving, and he looks so stunning, Steve wishes he could store away the image of him inside his head forever.

“You want a third?” he pants, and Bucky manages a quick, fervent nod, before Steve’s next shove has his entire body locking up with a gasp. Then, Steve feels fingernails dig into the skin of his shoulders when Bucky begins to move underneath him, meeting with every thrust with even more force.

“So close…” Bucky gasps. “So close, darlin’, so close…”

Steve nods, because he can’t bring himself to answer. Just hearing Bucky’s voice being whispered out in such a state of near-incoherency is more than enough to send his blood boiling, and he hangs his head down, grunting out a curse under his breath.

“Touch—” Bucky swallows down the rest of the sentence with a whimper while dropping his hand down to tug at Steve’s wrist. “Please, Ste— _Please…_ ”

Steve takes the hint, and he quickly reaches down between them, grabbing around Bucky’s cock. Bucky is already weeping, wet and slippery in Steve’s grip, and when Steve begins to jerk him off, Bucky keens towards the ceiling, blubbering out Steve’s name in an inarticulate sob.

That’s all it takes. Steve feels himself tighten, twitch, and then how his entire body goes rigid as he spills inside Bucky’s body with a hoarse cry. It is so tight, so good, and god, Steve’s missed this, missed being so _close._ The waves roll through his body, carrying on for ages as it laps against his nerve endings, over and over until his throat feels raw from the ragged noises it pushes past his lips.

Hearing Steve come, Bucky manages to peel his eyes open, and when his squinted gaze meets with the haze in Steve’s own, his jaw goes slack as the air locks up inside his chest. Steve sees the euphoria as it bursts forth behind Bucky’s eyes, for a moment rendering them unseeing in the pleasurable surge that follows. The wetness that dribbles down over Steve’s fingers when Bucky comes for the third time is less than before, but the orgasm is more than enough to send Bucky curling up into a near sitting position from the sheer force of it.

The choked-out sound of Bucky's voice sends delicious shivers coursing up Steve's spine, and they chase through his limbs along with the final, lingering convulsions of his own climax. Slowly, he stills his hips as he removes his hand from around Bucky’s cock, and the moment he stops moving, he feels as if every last ounce of strength has been drained out of his body.

With an exhausted groan, Steve slumps down on top of Bucky's chest to rub his face against his neck. His pulse is ringing inside his ears, but he's still pretty convinced that he can feel the pounding of Bucky's heart against his ribcage even clearer.

“Are you okay?” he murmurs drowsily, and in return, Bucky responds by groaning out something completely incomprehensible, that Steve vaguely recognizes to be Romanian.

“English, please,” Steve begs, closing his eyes, and he can hear the gulping sound of Bucky's throat against his ear when the other swallows thickly.

“Sorry,” Bucky rasps. “They all sound the same inside my head.”

Steve chuckles, and slowly pushes himself up. Bucky bites back a gasp when Steve pulls out of him, and Steve helps Bucky stand up before guiding him into the bathroom to clean up. While waiting for Bucky, he then fetches a new sheet from the closet, and once he's made the bed, he goes back to the bathroom. There, he joins Bucky in the shower for a quick scrub down – which ends up involving more kissing and touching rather than scrubbing – before they both return to the bedroom, fresh and clean.

“So,” Steve asks a she throws the covers back over them both. “What do you think of your first day being defrosted?”

“It's good,” Bucky murmurs. He already has his face pushed in close against Steve's chest, with his one arm wrapped tightly around the narrow part of Steve's torso. While Steve speaks, he also takes the opportunity to tangle their legs together underneath the covers, and Steve smiles, recognizing the habit from years past.

“It's still only like…five in the afternoon,” Steve points out. “Do you have any plans you wanna make for the rest of the night?”

“No,” Bucky decides, snuggling even closer.

“What, nothing?” Steve says with a laugh.

“I just wanna stay here,” Bucky confesses drowsily. “Preferably forever.”

“Well, forever is a real shame,” Steve concludes. “I was sort of hoping we could head back to Brooklyn in a few days. Or Manhattan.”

“Yeah, right,” Bucky huffs. “And have every cop and special forces unit in New York breathing down our necks? No thanks.”

Steve laughs again, shaking his head as he pulls back a little to look down at the near sleeping man in his arms. “Bucky,” he says softly. “No one is looking for us anymore. It's all been sorted out.”

Bucky breathes in, holding the air inside his lungs for a few seconds before breathing out again. “What?” he says slowly.

“Zemo was convicted for the UN bombing less than six months after T’challa brought him back.” Steve explains patiently. “Together with Tony, T’challa has managed to pull enough strings within the government to get us both pardoned. Or, well, your case was a bit different, considering the whole…assassination thing.”

“Different how?” Bucky asks. He has gone motionless, and Steve suspects that he’s still holding his breath little.

“You got sentenced to jail,” Steve clarifies. “At least technically.”

“Technically?”

“Yeah,” Steve answers, smiling. “Technically, because _technically_ , you've already served it.” When Bucky looks up at him with a confused gape, he continues softly, “You served it during the year you spent in cryo. Though, of course, no one back home knows you _went_ into cryo, so don't tell anyone that, or it might not count.”

He glances down, and he barely manages to contain a snort of laughter when Bucky blinks back at him, eyes wide.

“You mean…” Bucky starts, stunned. “I'm free to just…leave?”

“Whenever you want,” Steve promises. He smiles at him. “Got any place in particular you wanna go?”

Bucky swallows, and then he shakes his head as he casts his eyes down, fiddling with the sheets draped over their bodies. “I don't know,” he says. “I've never—”

“We can go wherever you want to,” Steve says. “All over the globe. There's no need to settle for just one place.”

“I go where you go,” Bucky says firmly. He cants his head up to look Steve in the eye for a short moment, before snorting loudly and turning his gaze away again. “You may be bigger nowadays, but you're still the same, cocky little brat you've always been. And I'm still gonna stick by you ‘til the very end, like the lovestruck fool I am.”

“Well,” Steve agrees affectionately, “come to think of it, you always were a bit stupid. Not to mention reckless and hot-headed.”

“Nah,” Bucky says. “I think you've got the wrong guy. Sounds like someone else I know, though.”

“Who's the dumbest?” Steve counters smugly. “The fool, or the fool who follows him?”

“Watch it,” Bucky scolds, shoving Steve in the side, “or I'll clock ya, one hand or not.”

Steve laughs and pulls Bucky closer against his chest before rolling them both over, coming out in top with both arms still tightly wrapped around Bucky’s shoulders.

“I'm glad you're finally here, Buck” he confesses, and he feels Bucky's fingers give his shoulder an affectionate little squeeze as the other buries his face in the crook of Steve's neck.

“Yeah,” Bucky whispers softly. “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, guys <3  
> There's an epilogue left, so make sure you don't miss out on that one :)


	27. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta for this chapter was done by the wonderful and ever so glorious  
> [Nursedarry](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NurseDarry) <3

_**October 3rd, 2018** _

 

When Steve enters the kitchen, Bucky is already awake.

Steve is not surprised. Bucky has always been an early riser, while Steve prefers to snuggle into the pillows for as long as he can. As of now, Bucky is standing over by the kitchen counter, with what Steve can only assume is a cup of freshly brewed coffee, looking out the window at their roof garden on the terrace outside.

It’s not a big terrace, seeing as they're still in the middle of Brooklyn, but it's more than enough. Sure, it's not a fancy villa in Italy with an additional vineyard – just two stories in Brooklyn Heights – but it's _home_ . _Their_ home. As for the roof garden, it hadn't exactly been worthy of praise when they bought the place, but together, they’ve still managed to turn the originally bleak terrace into a private little eden.

It's more than Steve could have ever dared to hope for.

Bucky is wearing the robe Steve got him last Christmas, and as Steve looks on, Bucky raises his cup to his lips. The sleek, black vibranium of his fingers curl around the handle in a gentle grip as he takes a sip, and the sight is all Steve needs in order to become fully awake.

Slowly, Steve saunters up to the kitchen counter and slowly wraps both his arms around the other man's waist from behind, snuggling his nose deep underneath the collar of Bucky's robe. “Hey,” he murmurs, and Bucky tips his head to the side in order to give Steve more room to place a tender little kiss against the nape of his neck.

“Mornin’,” Bucky greets back while affectionately brushing his thumb over Steve's wrist.

“Been up long?” Steve asks.

“Nah,” Bucky says with a shrug. He nods out the window towards the roof garden outside. “We're gonna have to pick the apples, before they all end up on the ground.”

“We'll do it after breakfast,” Steve promises with another kiss to Bucky's jaw line. “Maybe you can use them to bake a pie for later?”

“I was thinking more apple sauce,” Bucky confesses. “It goes along great with barbeque.”

“Can't you do both?” Steve barters. Bucky’s apple pie is the greatest, and he’s not about to give it up without a fight.

“I could,” Bucky agrees slyly. “If I'm motivated enough…”

“I see,” Steve hums. “And…how would you say you'd be appropriately _motivated_ for such a daunting task?”

“I'm sure you'll think of something,” Bucky assures him while turning around in Steve's arms. He glances down, past Steve's still naked-torso towards Steve's underwear. “Really?” he asks. “You couldn't have bothered to get dressed before you came down?”

“How am I supposed to motivate you with my clothes on?” Steve responds with feigned innocence, and Bucky smirks.

“Fair point,” he purrs, and Steve smiles when Bucky leans in to press a soft kiss against his lips.

It starts out slow and lazy, but Steve quickly gets with Bucky's program when the other guides Steve's hands down towards the belt of Bucky's robe with a firm grip around his wrists. Steve has just begun to pull the knot apart – which takes more concentration than one might think with someone nibbling at one’s ears – when the phone rings.

Bucky lets out a long, frustrated groan towards the ceiling when Steve pulls away to grab the portable phone out of its socket next to the microwave, but Steve ignores him.

“Hello?” he greets, bringing the phone up to his ear. “Hi, Sam.” He looks at Bucky and grins when he sees the glare Bucky aims towards the phone. “No, we're awake. Having breakfast.” He nods into the phone and gives an affirmative hum. “Six o'clock, yeah, I know. We'll be there.”

“Is it about the party?” Bucky mutters, and Steve nods, still listening to what Sam is saying on the other side of the line.

“Yeah, well, tell Tony not to forget the beer this time,” he argues. “ _Real_ beer, not that imported crap he brought when we went to Clint’s place.” There is a brief pause. “I don’t _care_ about percentage,” Steve insists. “Bucky and I can’t get drunk; he knows that, and since Thor’s not back—” He blinks, and the his eyes suddenly goes wide as he turns to look at Bucky, eyebrows arching. “Is that even legal?” he asks into the phone. “Where did he find that?”

Bucky frowns in intrigued confusion as he steps closer, and Steve laughs. “All right, but tell him to bring along something extra that doesn’t taste like gasoline, just in case,” Steve instructs. He then bites his lower lip when Bucky motions for him to hang up, while hooking his left index finger in the elastics of Steve’s boxer briefs.

“Bucky says hi, by the way,” Steve says cheerfully into the receiver, and Bucky rolls his eyes with a snort. “He says fuck you, too,” Steve informs him, but then he has to take the phone away from his mouth for a moment when Bucky decides to slip his entire hand down the front of his underwear.

 _Hang up,_ Bucky mouths at him, and Steve slowly brings the phone back down to speak. “Listen, Sam, I’ve gotta go” he says apologetically. “My breakfast is getting cold. We'll see you tonight. Yeah, I’ll remember. Bye.”

He hangs up the call, and demonstratively tucks the phone into the pocket of Bucky's robe.

“Jerk,” he scolds, yanking the other man forward by the belt once more to cover Bucky’s lips with his own.

“How about you stop being such a whiny little punk,” Bucky counters with a breathless grumble as he snakes the cool of his metal hand down the back of Steve’s boxers, “and finish what you started…”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, guys, that's it.  
> Again, I'm sorry these last chapters took so long, but times have been a bit rough around here lately. Hopefully, you won't hold it against me in future fics, I usually keep a very tight update schedule.
> 
> Anyway, I really hope you liked this fic. I started writing it as a fun idea, just to get a better grip on the pairing, and then the story just grew on me. These two idiots, ugh, like, really, how is such a love even allowed?
> 
> Please feel free to leave me feedback in the comments, and for those of you who want to talk more I'm also on [Tumblr](http://chiyume.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/chiyume87).  
> I respond to all messages, and I love talking to people, so don't hesitate to write me <3 
> 
> Thank you so, so very much for sticking with me throughout this story, I'm so happy to have recieved such a warm welcome into the Stucky fandom from all of you, and I will most definitely stick around to write more about these two lovely dorks.  
> This story has given me new friends, new experiences, and I feel as if my writing in general has developed so much from this. Thank you so much for all the love, you guys are beyond awesome <3


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